


Far from the Mad Crowd

by SigmaCreations



Category: Spooks | MI-5
Genre: F/M, Fluff and Angst, Humor, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-16
Updated: 2017-01-01
Packaged: 2018-08-15 08:33:37
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 60
Words: 51,559
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8049463
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SigmaCreations/pseuds/SigmaCreations
Summary: Set post 3.09, my attempt to get back into the swing of writing. Shorter chapters this time, but hopefully more frequent. All characters belong to Kudos and no copyright infringement is intended. As always, reviews are very much appreciated. Cheers, S.C.





	1. Chapter 1

He sits inside his office, behind his desk, watching her getting ready to go.

He frowns. It's early for her to be leaving. Well, not early exactly. Not strictly speaking. Just early for _her_ , early by her standards.

And she's reapplying her make up. _All_ of her make up, not just her lipstick as is her habit.

She must be going out, he realises with a sinking feeling in his stomach.

Again.

Out with someone else.

Is it the same man, he wonders.

“Fool,” he mutters to himself, returning his gaze to the paperwork he's meant to be working on, staring unseeing at the pages, his mind full of unwanted images of another man wining and dining her, making her smile, making her laugh, wooing her, kissing her, taking her home.

The door slides open, rescuing him from himself.

He lifts his head to glare at the intruder. Welcome though the interruption is, the handsome man stealing Ruth from right under his nose is still at the forefront of his mind.

“I'm off, Harry,” she smiles, refusing to be deterred by his grumpy face. It never seems to phase her. And that is just one of the things he loves about her.

“Right,” he replies, bringing his facial expression under control. “Going somewhere nice?”

He's fishing, but she replies anyway as if she hasn't noticed.

Perhaps she hasn't noticed. Perhaps it's never crossed her mind that he might care, might want, might long for her.

“I don't know. It's a surprise apparently.”

"Oh.” He looks away. A surprise – mark of a skilled seducer no doubt. “Well... have fun.”

“Thanks,” she says, then adds more softly, confiding in him as has been her habit of late since she'd helped him apply for DG. “My mad friends from uni are taking me out for a _very_ late birthday celebration.”

His eyes flick back to hers, chest expanding in relief as he struggles to hide his joy.

“Oh!” He tries to keep the pleasure out of his voice, but fails. “Er... mad friends?" he adds quickly, hoping she hasn't noticed.

“Yes. You know the type. Always looking for an excuse to celebrate. I only see them once a year for my birthday really. The rest of the time, I try to avoid them. It really isn't safe to see them more often.”

Her smile is mischievous, but she said not safe, so he's up and round his desk before he can stop himself.

“Not safe?”

“You know what I mean,” she sighs, feeling the concern coming off him in waves. Why do they all assume she's in trouble all the time? Does she really come across as such an incompetent, pathetic person who always needs to be rescued? She's a bloody _spy,_ for Christ's sake! “They're always trying to set me up with someone. I'm dreading tonight. Second year in a row that I'm single. They're going to be pulling out all the stops. I'm seriously considering talking Danny into being my boyfriend for the night.”

The last bit is said as a joke, he can tell, but something in him snaps at the thought and he hears himself say, “I could help you out if you like.”

“You... Really?”

She sounds surprised and... pleased? Is that possible? His heart beats faster.

“Of course. I have no plans tonight and... well, I wouldn't ask for anything in return whereas Danny...”

“You're right. I'll be bringing him coffee every morning for a month.” That impish smile is back and those eyes...

“At the very least.” He grins, unable to stop himself.

“Okay.” She nods decisively. “You'll have to be convincing though, Harry. You don't know them as well as I do. They'll be expecting me to pull something like this, so you'll have to act like you... um... mean it. You know, like you find me... irresistible.”

Good God but she's gorgeous when she blushes like that!

“I can do that.”

“Good. Well... shall we...?” She indicates the door.

She's not quite meeting his eye now and it makes him wonder.

“Yes. Let me just tidy up and I'll-”

“Meet me downstairs,” she interrupts. “By the bus stop.”

He watches her go with a sudden sinking feeling in his stomach. No acting will be required on his part tonight, but will it be on hers? What if all she wants is to be friends – good friends, close friends, but nothing more than friends?

Too late now, and besides, it's only a matter of time before she falls for someone else. She's young and vibrant, kind and funny, brilliant and yet naive enough, starry-eyed enough to fall in love. He's almost lost her once already to that Fortescue bloke and it had been only blind luck that the man had been too reserved, too reticent to make a move. He'd clearly been interested, far too interested for comfort. Why wouldn't he be, after all?

“Nothing ventured, nothing gained,” he mutters to himself as he turns back to his desk.


	2. Chapter 2

It's an op, she tells herself, just like any other op. Only she gets to pretend to be dating Harry.

Her boss.

The man she's had a crush on almost from the start.

Only it's more than a crush now.

Much, much more.

This is love.

She'd realised that when she'd thought he might be moving up to the seventh floor and effectively out of her life forever.

“How hard can it be?” she asks her reflection and immediately regrets it. Hard is not a word she should consider when thinking about Harry.

“Pathetic,” she concludes, glaring at herself and the blush spreading across her cheeks. “Pull yourself together.”

It's just an op. Just like any other op. Only she gets to pretend to be dating Harry.

And she's going to enjoy it, she decides.

Tonight, anything goes.

No holds bared.

She'll worry about tomorrow afterwards.


	3. Chapter 3

“We're not taking the bus.” It's a statement not a question.

“What's wrong with the bus?” She can't hide her amusement.

“Well, for one, my security officer would throw a fit.” The alarm he sees in her eyes has him silently kicking himself and adding quickly, “I gave him the night off on the strict understanding that I'm going straight home in the car.”

Her relief is palpable. She hasn't really considered what would happen if people at work found out about this.

Too late now, she tells herself, and besides, it's only one night.

Just a favour Harry's doing for her.

It's sweet really when she thinks about it.

“What he doesn't know, can't hurt him.” She smiles, having talked herself out of her momentary panic. “And besides, Harry, I'm sure your security officer would have a heart attack if he knew all you get up to when you tell him you don't need him because you're going straight home in the car.”

He chuckles, then changes tact. “Do you know how long it is since I last used the bus?”

“No. Where you a student by any chance? Or did they not have buses in those days?”

“Very funny, Ruth.”

She grins at him, her dimples out in full force, and he has to suppress a powerful urge to kiss away that teasing smile and make love to her then and there.

“Here it comes,” she says, breaking the spell. “Come on, Harry. It won't be so bad. Trust me.”

Then before he can complain any more or object any further, she grasps his hand and pulls him towards the bus, and he finds that he no longer cares if they take a bus, a tram or a moon shuttle to their destination as long as she continues to hold his hand.

“There. It's not so bad, is it?” she asks once they've found a couple of seats on the top deck, near the back.

She looks genuinely concerned about it, so he makes a non-committal noise at the back of his throat.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“No, seriously, Harry. What don't you like about the bus?”

“It's crowded, noisy, cramped, the seats are less than comfortable... Need I go on?”

He's counting the things he mentions off on his fingers and pouting adorably, and she has to resist a sudden urge to kiss him. She's always found him incredibly sexy when he's grumpy like this.

“No. It's fine.” She smiles. “I like the bus.”

“Why?”

He looks genuinely puzzled.

“Probably for the same reasons you hate it,” she says with a conspiratorial look up at him.

She's smiling and she's so very near, her shoulder and arm pressed against his, her body so tantalisingly close, that he suddenly feels that he might come to love the bus if he could sit beside her every time he rode it.

“So how many stops?” he asks, needing to change the subject.

“A couple more and then we have to change buses.”

He groans and she giggles at the look on his face.

“Just kidding,” she says. “It's only a short walk from there.”


	4. Chapter 4

So many people completely isolate themselves from the world around them, he thinks, noting how many of the passengers getting on and off the bus are using headphones.

He wouldn't be able to stand it. For a spook, it could be a matter of life and death after all.

He turns to look at Ruth as a woman takes a seat in front of them.

“So,” he says, “how long have we been together?”

“What?” she asks, startled by the shift in conversation.

He gives her a pointed look.

“Oh, er... Three months?”

The woman in front frowns with disapproval, but he just stares her down until she turns away again. Beside him, Ruth giggles.

“Honestly, Harry,” she teases. “You're hopeless. How can you not remember when we got together?”

“I might not remember when, Ruth, but I remember everything else. The dress you wore, your face in the moonlight, the way you felt in my arms as we danced under the stars.”

She blushes and looks away, her heart thumping wildly in her chest, pleasure and fear vying for dominance inside her.

_Stop it, Ruth! You asked for this. This is what he's here for tonight – to convince the world that you're together._

She takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, only for it to come out in a rush as he presses his thigh against hers.

_Bloody man! He knows exactly what he's doing!_

“This is our stop, isn't it, Ruth?” he murmurs near her ear, the amusement in his voice unmistakable.

“Oh! So it is.”

They get off and she glances up and down the street to get her bearings.

“This way,” she says, turning right and slowing her steps until he catches up and they're walking side by side.

This is never going to work unless she immerses herself in the legend, she realises. She needs to get a grip, as Harry's just reminded her. It won't do to have her reacting like that in front of her friends. They know her too well and will immediately guess what she's up to, especially as they know she's done this before.

She glances up at him to find him watching her.

He smiles.

“I suppose I should tell you a little bit about them then,” she says.

“That would help.”

“There are six of us. We were in halls together and ended up sharing a house later. Alex is a little like me. You know... normal.”

“Normal?” He lifts an eyebrow.

“You're right. Nothing normal about being a spy,” she concedes, smiling. “Anyway, she read history and is now a professor at UCL. She's single as far as I know, and she likes dogs. When I say likes, she adores them. I think she has at least four.”

“Right.”

“The crazy one is Maggie. She's the one who always got us into trouble for going along with her harebrained schemes. Not that we needed much encouragement. She's a terrible flirt, had a different boyfriend every week, spent most of her time at parties and the like, and to be quite frank, I've no idea how she ever managed to actually find enough time to study, pass her exams and graduate. She works in PR now.”

He smiles.

“What?”

“I suspect a few old friends would say the same about me,” he hears himself confess.

“That explains a lot.”

“And what exactly is that supposed to mean, Ms Evershed?”

“Nothing.”

He just stares at her, waiting, then abruptly stops walking to stare at her some more.

“Oh all right!” she sighs, blushing. “It's just that, out of all of them, Maggs was always the one I felt closest too. For some reason, I've always liked people with a bit of a... naughty streak.”

He grins and resumes walking, his heart suddenly as light as a feather.

She likes him.

Ruth _likes_ him.

“So, Alex is the quiet, dog lover and Maggie is the flirt. What about the rest?”

“Bridget was always the one who had everything figured out. She's married now to Mick and they have three kids, Matt, Tim and Annabel, ages... er... I don't remember. Oh dear. She's going to kill me.”

He laughs.

“Then there's... Let's see – Maggs, Bridge, Pam. Oh yes, Pam. She's really nice and just... lovely. Always there for you when you need her. She's divorced now, but has two children. She married quite soon after we graduated, so her kids must be in their early teens now. I'm godmother to one of them. Mary. Let me see… She must be twelve now, thirteen at Christmas. I don't see her much. I'm a terrible godmother really.” She grimaces.

“I have three godchildren, none of whom I ever see or talk to,” he replies. “Come to think of it, I'm not sure I even remember their names. I think you're doing rather well by comparison.”

“I don't know, Harry,” she teases. “It's always a competition with you. You always have to be the best at being the worst.”

He chuckles, then smiles into her eyes, his gaze so warm and soft that she gets lost for a moment before recollecting herself.

She clears her throat and says, “We're almost there now. It's just round this corner.”

He nods. “What about the last one?”

“The last one?”

“Of your mad friends.”

“Oh! Yes. June. She stayed in Oxford. Works for the local council now, I think. She's the other cat lover of the group, but hers are pure breeds. She has a long-term partner, Alice. They've been together since our last year at uni.” She looks round at him and adds, “That's about it.”

“I don't think so, Ruth,” he replies and stops walking.

She frowns up at him and he feels a sudden urge to smooth the skin between her brows with his thumb.

Or his lips.

He can't quite decide which right now.

“You haven't told me any of the madcap schemes Maggie came up with that the rest of you went along with. It's been three months. Don't you think you would have shared one or two by now?”

His eyes are twinkling at her and she knows she's caught.

In a real relationship, he _would_ know those things by now. At least, he'd know some of them.

But this isn't a real relationship.

Tomorrow they'll be boss and employee again and, in _their_ profession especially, it's not good for her if he knows too much. He could use it against her in the future to get her to do his bidding. She's seen him do it before with others.

A horrible thought occurs to her.

Is this why he's agreed to help her tonight?

He sees her giving him a worried, searching look and wonders what she's thinking.

“I'm teasing, Ruth,” he says gently.

“Why are you doing this, Harry?” she asks.

“Teasing?”

“No. This _._ Helping me out with my friends.”

“Because you said you needed help, so I offered and you accepted. It's what friends do for each other, isn't it?” he replies carefully.

“And you have no... nefarious schemes?”

“Nefarious schemes?!” He sounds amused again.

“No, that doesn't sound right. Ulterior motives,” she clarifies, feeling rather stupid.

“None,” he lies. She looks a little lost and vulnerable all of a sudden and it pulls at his heart strings. “I don't have many friends, Ruth,” he finds himself confessing softly, “and out of those I have, there are even fewer whom I trust.”

That he trust her is implied and she finds it warms her heart and melts away her suspicions.

Harry Pearce trusts her.

She smiles at him and nods.

“Okay then,” she says.


	5. Chapter 5

“Ready?” she asks, hand on the pub door where she's arranged to meet them.

“Absolutely,” he answers and takes her free hand in his.

She tries not to smile too widely as she pulls open the door.

He tries not to look too smug as he follows her into the pub.

“Ruth!” a female voice calls across the noisy room. “Over here.”

She takes a deep breath. Here goes. “Once more unto the breach,” she mutters and hears him chuckle as she leads him by the hand across to her friends.

“Ruth! You're here! How are you?”

“It's good to see you, Ruth.”

“What took you so long?”

“Yeah! Where have you _been_? We're _way_ ahead of you already.”

“But we're so glad you made it.”

She knows she'll never get a word in edgeways, so she doesn't even bother trying as they each embrace her and the barrage of comments and questions continues. She just hopes Harry hasn't deserted her. He'd said he'd get them drinks as they'd made their way through the crowd around the bar and she's half scared he took the opportunity to make a quick escape.

“Happy very belated birthday!”

“Yeah, happy birthday!”

“You look great! Doesn't she look great?”

“Fabulous! What's the secret?”

“You're glowing, Ruth!”

“And she's lost weight. Haven't you?”

She looks overwhelmed so he steps in to rescue her.

“It's the sex. It keeps us both young and fit,” he declares, striking them all dumb.

He smiles as he looks from one person to the next, quickly scanning and assessing each one, trying to put a name to each of the faces before his eyes finally come back to Ruth.

He half expects her to be glaring at him and silently plotting his demise, but to his immense relief, she isn't. She looks like she's trying hard not to laugh, and he can't be sure if the blush spreading across her cheeks is a result of that, or his words.

“Everyone,” she says, “this is Harry.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N I'd just like to take a moment to thank all of you for reading and for all your encouraging reviews. This fic is a joy to write, so I'm glad to hear others are enjoying it too. Also many thanks to ourillustriousbrotherhood for encouraging me to try writing in this style. Finally, I have to acknowledge borrowing a phrase from the brilliant Peter Firth in this chapter, but seeing as it's Harry who uses it, I hope he won't mind too much. Cheers, S.C.

“So what do you do, Harry?”

“I'm a spy,” he replies, his face inscrutable.

“Really?”

“Yes. Didn't Ruth say? The name's Bond. Harry Bond.”

“He's just kidding, Alex.” Ruth frowns.

“Oh, go on,” he pouts, leaning in towards her. “Let me have some fun.”

Her heart lurches in her chest, her hand tightening around her wine glass, the temptation to lift it and take a steadying gulp overwhelming.

She hasn't had nearly enough alcohol to deal with this – Harry Pearce looking at her like that, making love to her with his gorgeous, expressive eyes.

How does he do it? Slip into character so effortlessly?

_Hold it together, Ruth. He's your boyfriend. You've been together for months. You feel relaxed and comfortable around him. You love him. You want him. This is something you've dreamt about for months. It's the opportunity of a lifetime!_

She consciously relaxes her grip on the glass and smiles into his eyes.

“No,” she replies, lifting her hand and gently cupping his cheek.

His heart races at the contact and it's all he can do not to kiss her.

_Easy, Harry. Easy, old boy. You don't want to scare her off. Play the game. Let her relax. Self-control._

He smiles encouragingly.

“You two are adorable,” Pam says.

“She's the adorable one,” he murmurs, still looking at Ruth, “and the clever one. I just tag along and chop wood.”

“Is that what we're calling it now?” she questions, her eyes alight with mischief.

He laughs. He can't help himself. She is so... perfect. So _damned_ perfect that he can't believe his luck.

Except it isn't luck.

It's all pretence, he reminds himself.

She can't possibly return his feelings.

Can she?

He searches her gaze, looking for a clue, a sign that it's not the legend, that she feels it too. But she's too good a spook – a born spook – and he cannot find it.

Or perhaps, a little voice whispers in his head, it's simply not there to be found.


	7. Chapter 7

“So how did you two meet? And more importantly, how come you never told us about it, Ruth?!”

“Well it's only been – what? – three,” she begins.

“Four,” he corrects.

“Four?”

“She never remembers.” He sighs, shaking his head with a long suffering air that makes her smile. He's been fantastic tonight. His performance so convincing that she's beginning to wonder if he might genuinely-

No! She quickly curtails that thought. It's not possible.

_It's just wishful thinking, Ruth._

He's a spy. A born actor, a manipulator, someone with so much experience that it's no wonder he's got all her friends and their various partners lapping it up, eating out of the palm of his hand.

She needs to kiss him. Before the night is over, she needs to grasp the opportunity given to her with both hands or she'll always wonder and regret.

“Go on then,” she encourages, sliding her hand over his. “You tell it.”

“All right,” he smiles, linking their fingers together and rubbing his thumb against the back of her hand, sparking fireworks inside her. “It was _four_ months ago. On February 12th. I remember because it was Valentine's weekend. A mutual friend threw a party at his place and we were both invited.”

“A mutual friend?” Ruth arches an eyebrow, challenging him, delighting in it, wanting to force him to change his story. Keeping him on his toes is one of her favourite occupations.

“All right,” he sighs, his eyes twinkling at her. “A mutual friend of yours and the woman I was seeing at the time. I was her plus one.”

“Naughty!!”

“Yes.” She smiles. “He's very naughty.”

“And it's one of the things you love about me. Admit it.”

“All right,” she agrees, trying not to miss a beat, knowing he's trying to throw her off her stride with the mention of love.

Or is he perhaps fishing?

Could he possibly...?

No. Wishful thinking, she reminds herself sternly.

“The other being your big-” she pauses, seeing his eyes widen imperceptibly and hearing one of her friends gasp and another begin to giggle, “heart,” she finishes with the flash of a grin.

“Heart?” he enquires, the mischief back in his eyes. “I thought you were going to say bank account. It's no secret I'm well endowed.”

“That too.”


	8. Chapter 8

She follows him to the bar ostensibly to help with the drinks, but he soon discovers she has an ulterior motive. He'd expected a certain amount of flirting, given what Ruth had said about her, but she takes him completely by surprise when she reaches up and kisses him firmly, fully on the lips.

He jerks his head back, his hands grasping her arms to pull her off him, shocked to the core that a friend of Ruth's would betray her like this.

“What are you doing?!” he demands.

“Isn't it obvious?” she murmurs, tilting her head to the side and giving him a charming, flirtatious smile.

“Maggie!” He stares at her, indignation flooding him on Ruth's behalf. This is the one person, out of all of them, she said she feels closest to! “I'm with Ruth! I can't believe you would do this to her.”

“Just checking,” she replies, giving him a grin and a shrug of her slender shoulders. Then she turns and picks up a few drinks that the barmaid has just finished pouring for them before giving him another bright smile and returning to their table, leaving him to follow with the rest.

He's still somewhat confused and a little shell-shocked when he returns to the table and sets down the drinks, passing them around before resuming his seat next to Ruth.

“You all right?” she asks, searching his gaze and looking concerned.

She reaches for his hand and he gives it a reassuring squeeze as he meets her gaze and smiles.

“Yes. Fine.”

He can't possibly tell her what just happened. It would break her heart.

“So did he pass?” Bridget asks.

He turns to look at her sharply.

“With flying colours,” Maggie declares, shooting him a mischievous grin. “Well done, Ruth. He's clearly a keeper.”

“You didn't!” Ruth gasps and, when he turns to look at her, he finds her glaring at Maggie.

“Of course I did.”

“What the hell's going on?” he asks though he suspects he can probably guess the answer.

“It's a test we devised a long time ago,” Alex explains.

“A test?”

“Pam had her heart broken by some wanker who decided to hit on Maggie while her back was turned,” Bridget elaborates. “So we came up with the idea to test blokes before we got too involved with them. Maggie usually does the honours.”

“Nothing personal, you understand,” Maggie grins at him. “I just enjoy a good snog.”

Ruth was right.

They're mad.

All of them.

He turns to look at Ruth.

Her eyes seem cooler, more distant than before, and he can't help the stab of panic that pierces his heart. Things have been going so well between them.

“I didn't,” he murmurs.

Is he telling the truth, she wonders as she gazes into his soft, almost pleading, hazel eyes.

She doesn't think she's ever felt this jealous before.

Maggie got to kiss Harry first!

She didn't know, of course. None of them do. But it doesn't make it hurt any less.

Harry's hers!

And with that realisation the last vestiges of doubt disappear and she finally lets go, fully immersing herself in the moment and to hell with the consequences. She leans in, and slipping her hand behind his neck, she pulls his head down to kiss him.

Hard.

He's almost as surprised as when Maggie did this, but his response is totally different. He lifts his hand to cup her cheek as he moves his lips against hers, giving as good as he gets, the kiss bruising in its intensity.

It lasts no more than a few seconds before she pulls back, her eyes intense as she looks at him and whispers, “You're mine!”

His heart trips and his insides do a little flip at that, such a fierce, possessive statement from Ruth.

“Always,” he replies and reaches forward to softly brush his lips against hers, not trusting himself to do or say anything more.

“Okay, _now_ I'm jealous,” Maggie declares, making them all laugh.

Ruth smiles at him and blushes, dipping her head as is her habit when she feels uncomfortable, a little shocked at her own daring. He chuckles and slips his arm round her shoulders, pulling her against him until her head is resting on his shoulder and he can press a soft kiss against her forehead.

_Good God, but this feels good._


	9. Chapter 9

The legend they've built has taken over. It is so easy to imagine that they've been together four months. So effortless to act out the intimacy in their touch, the love and hunger in their gaze, the illusion of a shared past and future.

Neither of them thinks about tomorrow.

It is too painful, too final, too great a loss.

They are present only in the moment.

Dancing.

Bodies close, hands twined together, eyes locked in intimate conversation.

Neither can tell who makes the first move as their lips come together.

Neither cares or wants it to end.


	10. Chapter 10

It's getting late now, but nobody wants to call it a night yet. They're having far too good a time.

“The way Ruth was acting at the beginning, we thought you were another Philip Morse, Harry,” June says during a lull in the conversation, “but it's clear now that you're not.”

He feels Ruth stiffen beside him.

“Who's Philip Morse?” he asks, intrigued.

“Nothing,” Ruth is quick to reply. “Nobody.”

She turns and glares at her friends and he's impressed when he sees them all look away, subdued.

“Who's Philip Morse?” he repeats, but suddenly no one's interested, turning and striking up conversations with each other. “Ruth?” he murmurs.

“Mmm?”

“Who's Philip Morse?”

“No one.”

“Ruth.”

She's silent for a moment before she sighs, knowing by the glint in his eye that he's not going to let this go. She's going to _kill_ June for this later.

She should have known it was coming. They do this _every_ time. Payback for almost pulling it off. If it hadn't been for bloody Philip and his bloody libido.

Lucky Harry's a whole other calibre of man. A spy. He won't hold it against her, will he?

Don't think about it, she orders herself, just do it.

_Quickly, like pulling off a plaster, before I lose my nerve._

She takes a fortifying gulp of wine.

“Okay. Fine. Philip Morse was someone I knew when I worked in Cheltenham. I was single and this lot kept going on about it, threatening to set me up with God knows whom, so I asked Philip to be my boyfriend for the evening to get them off my back.”

“Only we found out about it when Maggie snogged him and he very quickly spilled the beans when he thought he might get lucky,” Alex finishes the story with glee.

They're all watching him, he notes, for his reaction.

He looks at Ruth, who's blushing scarlet and avoiding his gaze, and feels pride and intense admiration in his heart, carefully ignoring the stab of jealousy in his gut and the doubts that rear their ugly heads in his mind.

_A born spook. No doubt about that._

“Oh Ruth,” he murmurs fondly, smiling as he reaches an arm round her shoulders and pulls her against him, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. Then he whispers in her ear, so no one else can hear, “And here I was thinking I was your first.”

She thinks she hears a hint of disappointment in his voice which lifts her heart with hope.

“Sorry, no,” she smiles, turning and lifting her eyes to his, “but with any luck, you'll turn out to be my last.”

_Hell's bells!_

He stares at her, but the intensity of it is too much and she dips her head and looks away, turning to talk to Alice, who's sitting on her other side, and leaving him to ponder the meaning behind her words.


	11. Chapter 11

It's getting late now, but nobody wants to call it a night yet. They're having far too good a time.

“The way Ruth was acting at the beginning, we thought you were another Philip Morse, Harry,” June says during a lull in the conversation, “but it's clear now that you're not.”

He feels Ruth stiffen beside him.

“Who's Philip Morse?” he asks, intrigued.

“Nothing,” Ruth is quick to reply. “Nobody.”

She turns and glares at her friends and he's impressed when he sees them all look away, subdued.

“Who's Philip Morse?” he repeats, but suddenly no one's interested, turning and striking up conversations with each other. “Ruth?” he murmurs.

“Mmm?”

“Who's Philip Morse?”

“No one.”

“Ruth.”

She's silent for a moment before she sighs, knowing by the glint in his eye that he's not going to let this go. She's going to _kill_ June for this later.

She should have known it was coming. They do this _every_ time. Payback for almost pulling it off. If it hadn't been for bloody Philip and his bloody libido.

Lucky Harry's a whole other calibre of man. A spy. He won't hold it against her, will he?

Don't think about it, she orders herself, just do it.

_Quickly, like pulling off a plaster, before you lose your nerve._

She takes a fortifying gulp of wine.

“Okay. Fine. Philip Morse was someone I knew when I worked in Cheltenham. I was single and this lot kept going on about it, threatening to set me up with God knows whom, so I asked Philip to be my boyfriend for the evening to get them off my back.”

“Only we found out about it when Maggie snogged him and he very quickly spilled the beans when he thought he might get lucky,” Alex finishes the story with glee.

They're all watching him, he notes, for his reaction.

He looks at Ruth, who's blushing scarlet and avoiding his gaze, and feels pride and intense admiration in his heart, carefully ignoring the stab of jealousy in his gut and the doubts that rear their ugly heads in his mind.

_A born spook. No doubt about that._

“Oh Ruth,” he murmurs fondly, smiling as he reaches an arm round her shoulders and pulls her against him, pressing a soft kiss against her temple. Then he whispers in her ear, so no one else can hear, “And here I was thinking I was your first.”

She thinks she hears a hint of disappointment in his voice which lifts her heart with hope.

“Sorry, no,” she smiles, turning and lifting her eyes to his, “but with any luck, you'll turn out to be my last.”

_Hell's bells!_

He stares at her, but the intensity of it is too much and she dips her head and looks away, turning to talk to Alice, who's sitting on her other side, and leaving him to ponder the meaning behind her words.


	12. Chapter 12

Pam and Dave have left.

June and Alice follow.

The evening is drawing to a close.

The dream to an end.

His face is serious now.

Her hands tighten their grip on his.

He smiles reassuringly as he squeezes back.

“We'd best get going too,” Bridget says.

They smile and nod, but inside they're hurting.

How much of this was real, they each wonder, and how much just pretence? What will happen to them now, without an audience to play for?

She has to let go of Harry's hand to shake Mick's and embrace Bridget.

“You'll come next week, yes?” Mick asks Harry.

“Next week?” he inquires, heart beating wildly with hope.

“We're having a barbie,” he clarifies. Mick is Australian. “Didn't Bridge say?” This he directs at Ruth.

“No,” she shakes her head, holding her breath with anticipation and hope.

“Yes, I did,” Bridget insists. She always insists she's right. And always forgets what she's told whom.

“No-”

“I did! I distinctly remember telling you about it earlier when-”

“Anyway,” Mick cuts in, “the point is we're having a barbie next Sunday, the 19th, to watch the cricket. Can you make it?”

“I don't see why not,” Harry replies quickly, flooding her with pleasure and relief. “Do you, Ruth?”

Heart in his mouth, he waits for her response.

“No. You'll be glued to the telly anyway. Might as well go somewhere where I can have some fun too.” She gives him a cheeky grin.

Mick laughs and says, “Righto. See ya there then.”

“Yes. Thanks. See you there. Good night.”

“Night.”

They've been granted a reprieve and it feels fantastic.


	13. Chapter 13

“Ready to go?”

“I suppose. Can't stay here all night.”

“Well... we _could_ , but it would probably not be very wise.”

“No. We might regret it in the morning.”

A pause during which he wars with himself on whether to say what he's thinking.

“I hope not, Ruth,” he murmurs softly.

Is he alluding to what she thinks he's alluding to?

She blushes and drops her gaze from his. It's so bloody hard to be brave without an audience.

“I'll call us a cab,” he offers, pulling out his phone.

“We could-”

“I hope you're not about to suggest we take the bus again, Ruth,” he frowns at her.

“Well...” she smiles. She absolutely _adores_ it when he pouts.

“Over my dead body. I rode on it with you to get here, so you're jolly well going to let me take you home in a cab. Clear?”

“Crystal.” She looks like she's trying not to laugh.

“Humph,” he grunts and turns back to his phone to make the call.


	14. Chapter 14

“Your friends are... interesting,” he says for something to break the silence that's settled between them.

She doesn't look entirely comfortable confined in the back of the taxi with him and it worries him.

“Bloody awful, more like,” she replies ruefully. “Sometimes they really take the biscuit.”

“Well... yes. I was being polite.”

That makes her laugh. “Well, that's a first, Harry.”

“I don't know what you mean.” He sounds affronted. “I'm always polite. A perfect gentleman.”

That makes her snort as she tries to contain her laughter. “Batman a perfect gentleman?” she teases.

“Bruce Wayne,” he corrects. “Batman is a ruthless bastard.”

“You have an alter ego.” It's a statement not a question. “Only it's your softer side that is hidden behind the mask.” She's never seen it in this light before and she finds it rather illuminating.

“Easy, Ruth, I've got a reputation to uphold here.” He looks out the window, a little embarrassed she thinks and – is that a blush spreading across his cheeks? She can't be sure in the dim light, but it makes her smile and boosts her confidence considerably. It's nice to know she's not the only one to feel vulnerable and embarrassed sometimes.

“Whatever you say, Batman,” she replies.

“That's going to stick, isn't it?” He's pouting most adorably again.

“Maybe,” she grins. “I'm still thinking about it.”

He sighs. “Just so long as it doesn't make it into work.”

He closes his eyes and silently kicks himself for mentioning the w-word. She'd began to relax beside him but he can feel her tense up again now.

“Don't worry,” she says, looking down at her hands. “I wouldn't want to have to explain where that particular nickname came from.”


	15. Chapter 15

They stop in front of her front door and she fishes out her keys from her handbag.

“Thanks for this evening,” she says, glancing quickly up at him. “I owe you one.”

“Nonsense. I was happy to help and I had a good time.”

“Me too,” she admits with a small smile.

He watches her watch him, wondering what she's thinking.

He wants to kiss her, but he daren't.

It doesn't all have to happen tonight, he reminds himself. There's still next Sunday to look forward to.

“You don't really have to come next weekend,” she says.

“I'd like to come,” he replies. “As you so rightly pointed out, I'll be watching the cricket anyway.” He smiles, then falters and adds hesitantly, “Unless you'd rather I didn't?”

“No!”

The strength of her objection startles them both.

She winces. “Sorry,” she says, blushing. “I'd _like_ you to come... with me.”

The double meaning of her words isn't lost on him.

_Good God, if only..._

“That's good.”

Her eyes search his, wondering what he's thinking.

She wants to kiss him, but she daren't.

Her courage has deserted her again despite her decision earlier to leave her inhibitions at home tonight.

_Thank God for next Sunday._

“Good night, Harry,” she whispers.

“Good night, Ruth,” he nods.

They continue to stand, staring at each other.

Neither moves. Neither wants the evening to end.

She can hear her heart beating wildly and wonders if he can too.

He sees her gaze drop to his lips and feels his self-control slip a notch.

Time to go before he does something stupid.

Abruptly, he leans forward and presses his lips softly against her cheek.

“Good night, Ruth,” he murmurs and turns away.


	16. Chapter 16

It's Friday night and they still haven't discussed anything but work. Has she forgotten about it? Is she hoping that he has?

She gathers her papers, ready to leave his office, wanting to ask him about Sunday but scared he's forgotten, scared he's hoping she has.

“Just one more thing,” he says, feeling his heart-rate quicken.

“Yes?”

“About Sunday.”

Her heart flutters in her chest then sinks down to her knees at the serious look on his face. She's been _so_ looking forward to Sunday.

“It's fine, Harry. You don't have to go. I'll... um...”

“You misunderstand me. I was just going to ask how we're getting there. You know... where it is and what time we'll be setting off... Assuming you still want-”

“Oh! Yes! That's... great.”

She doesn't think she's ever felt more relieved or happy in her life before.

He doesn't think he's ever seen her smile so brightly before. Is it at the prospect of spending time with him? Or is it merely the thought of not having to face her mad friends alone?

He longs to know but he daren't ask now.

Not before Sunday.

Not while there's still the prospect of spending practically an entire day in her delightful company.

“We could meet there,” she suggests, not wanting to risk assuming too much.

“That would look a bit odd, don't you think?”

“You're probably right.” She chews her lower lip to stop herself from smiling at the thought of arriving with Harry. Together. It's all she's been thinking about all week.

Well, _that_ and the kissing.

Lots of kissing.

Snogging really.

“A taxi?” she says, trying not to blush.

“What? No bus?”

His eyes are twinkling at her and she can't help smiling now.

She wrinkles her nose most adorably and he desperately wants to kiss her. Now is neither the time, not the place, however.

Two days, he tells himself sternly. There's bound to be an opportunity on Sunday. And if not, he'll create one. It'll be a piece of cake... in character as her boyfriend. It's the rest of the time that he struggles. He wonders at that for a moment.

_Definitely something to ponder._

“It's a bit complicated by bus. We could take the tube though and-”

“Spare me!” he groans and she giggles.

“Let me pick you up,” he says on impulse. “I could drive us.”

It's probably safer if he has a reason to stay sober anyway. The last thing he needs is his judgement clouded by alcohol.

“Are you sure? You won't mind missing out on the drinks?”

“Positive.”

“All right. Thanks.”

“What time?”

“Nine-ish? We'll need an hour or so to get there, I should think, and Bridge said any time after ten.”

“Sounds good. I'll see you then.”

“Yes.”

She gives him an impish smile and turns to leave his office, dipping her head shyly.

He's in so much trouble. He's not sure there's any way back from this.

And he still doesn't know what she meant when she said, “But with any luck, you'll turn out to be my last.”

Pretend boyfriend? Real boyfriend? Partner for life? _What?!_

He's going to have to ask her.

Sunday night.

He's going to have to admit that he wants more, no matter how terrifying that might be.

He hasn't felt like this, wanted to spend time with a woman like this, since Jane.

And after how that ended, it is a _very_ scary thought indeed.


	17. Chapter 17

He regards the clothes hanging in his wardrobe with a frown and a pout of deep dissatisfaction.

_A barbecue. What the hell do people wear to a bloody barbecue?_

His phone rings.

“Pearce,” he says into the phone, his eyes still on the depressingly unimaginative contents of his wardrobe.

_Let's face it. The options for casual are rather limited, old son._

“Hi. It's me... Ruth.”

She sounds a little breathless.

“Ruth.” He smiles. “Everything all right?”

Christ, she loves the way he says her name.

“Yes, fine, thanks. I'm just ringing about tomorrow.”

“Oh?”

 _Don't cancel. Please, please,_ please _don't cancel._

“It's just that I forgot to mention that Mick and Bridget are... rather well off.”

“Okay.”

He's not quite sure what this has to do with anything.

“And they have a big house. With a large back garden. And a tennis court. And a pool, so... you might want to bring something to change into... in case you want to swim.”

_A pool. Swim. Ruth swimming. In the pool. Coming out all wet. In a bathing suit. Oh God!_

“Harry? Are you still there?”

He clears his throat.

“Yes. I'm still here. Sorry. I needed to flip the bacon and eggs,” he invents. “Right. I'll bring my tennis racket then.”

_Tennis racket? Harry playing tennis... in shorts. Stop it, Ruth! Focus!_

“You play tennis?!”

“No need to sound so surprised, Ruth.”

“No, I didn't... I don't... I mean-”

He chuckles.

“I'm just teasing. I don't, in fact, play tennis. Cricket is much more my thing. Especially if it's on the telly or at Lord's.”

“Oh. Right.”

Is that disappointment in her voice?

“I'll bring my trunks though. Just in case.”

_Oh God! Harry in trunks! Swimming trunks!_

“Ruth?”

“Sorry. Yes. That would be... great. Anyway, I'd best leave you to finish your breakfast. Sorry to interrupt. I just wanted to make sure you knew, so you didn't feel... Anyway. See you tomorrow, Harry. Bye.” It's all said in a rush before she slams down the phone, her hand trembling a little, her heart trilling like a bird's.

 _Way to go, Ruth. What the hell were you thinking! Harry in swimming trunks?! As if it's not hard enough to resist him when he's fully clothed! Not to mention the fact that he's now going to expect you to bring yours. And wear it. In_ front _of him!_

She groans out loud and buries her face in her hands.

“Bye,” he replies, but she's no longer there to hear him.

What the hell was all that about, he wonders.

_Right. Focus. A pool. Trunks._

Good job he's already had his yearly, week-long, compulsory time off. Corsica had been quite lovely and his tan is still pretty good. The way he sees it, if he's going to be forced to leave the Grid, he might as well go somewhere remote and hot where he can hire a yacht and spend all day on the water with nothing but the sun and stars for company.

Time to dig out the shorts, trunks and shirts he's already packed away for next year, and with any luck, next year he'll be taking that vacation with Ruth by his side.

_Now there's a happy thought._


	18. Chapter 18

He's punctual, ringing the doorbell at nine on the dot.

Actually he'd arrived twenty minutes early and had sat in the car waiting, but Ruth doesn't need to know that.

“Hello,” she smiles as she pulls open the door. “Sorry. I'm almost ready. I just need to check that Fidget has...” She tails off, feeling rather flustered.

He's wearing a casual dark jacket, open in the front over a white shirt with one, two, _three_ buttons undone at the top. Is he trying to kill her?! And not only that, but his rather gorgeous knees and well-toned calves are wonderfully tanned and on display, not to mention part of his deliciously muscular thighs.

He looks... ambrosial, and she thinks she might need to sit down.

“Good morning, Ruth,” he says in a low rumble.

Blushing, she quickly lifts her eyes to his.

“Sorry. Come in.” She steps aside to let him through and closes the door behind him before quickly adding, “I won't be a minute,” and disappearing into the kitchen.

Christ! She's a vision today with her hair framing her face just so, arms and calves bare in her short-sleeve top and white Capris. He's never seen her in anything quite this form-fitting and it almost has his eyes popping out of his head. All his imaginings haven't even come close to capturing the beauty before him because, of course, he's followed her into the kitchen and is now drinking his fill, shamelessly staring at her while she fills the cat's food-bowl, blissfully unaware of his intense gaze.

“Here you go, Fidget,” she tells the cat, setting the bowl down and stroking him. “Be good while I'm gone.”

He smiles. He'd said pretty much the same thing to Scarlet this morning.

“I can feel you watching me, Harry.”

His smile widens. “Can you blame me? You look lovely this morning, Ruth.” He wants to say breathtaking, gorgeous, stunning, but he daren't risk it.

“Thank you.”

She stands and turns to face him, a small smile on her lips and her cheeks a little red, making her look more beautiful than ever.

“You look good too,” she says. “And I'm really quite jealous of that tan.”

He chuckles.

“Courtesy of the DG.”

“The DG?”

“He forces me to take leave every year.”

“Ah, yes.” She gives him an impish smile. “Slave driver, isn't he? Similar to my boss in many respects.”

“Quite possibly. A right bastard, is he?”

“Sometimes,” she concedes. “But I don't think that's who he truly is. I think it's the job. It demands a lot of all of us.”

His eyes are so gentle and warm after that, that she can't hold them for long and finds herself looking away, seeking a distraction.

“Anyway, shall we go? I just need to get the salads from the fridge and the wine.”

She moves to the fridge and pulls out the tuppers.

“Here. Let me help.” He takes them from her and places them on the kitchen table. “Did you make all this?”

“Yes. I like to chip in and Bridget always requests my Russian salad. The other is a pasta one.”

“You should have said. I could have helped.”

He thinks she looks a little sceptical.

“What? I _can_ cook, Ruth. I enjoy it. In fact, I make a rather mean chilli con carne and my potato salad is legendary – if I do say so myself.”

“Legendary?! I'll have to try that one day then.” She smiles, dimples flashing.

“Good,” he says, lifting the bag that now contains the salads with one hand and the wine with the other. He wants to ask her, set a date for him to cook for her, but he's worried it's too soon. Later, he tells himself. He'll bring it up again when he drops her off at home tonight.


	19. Chapter 19

“Flowers?” she questions when she spies them on the back seat.

“For Bridget,” he explains.

“Mmmm...” she hums. “Someone was brought up well.”

“My mother was very particular about such things,” he confesses. Then lifting the arm rest between them, he reaches into the compartment and brings out a small package wrapped in gold foil with a white daisy lying across the top. “This is for you.”

“Harry! You didn't need to get me anything.”

“I know that, but... well, it felt wrong to get flowers for Bridget and nothing for you.”

“Thank you,” she whispers.

Her hands are gently stroking the book – she's sure it's a book – savouring the anticipation. Her thoughts drift back to the presents he'd hidden for her to find on her birthday. She cherishes the Red Shoes album and the book on cats had been so hopelessly daft as to be surprisingly endearing.

_Two presents in almost as many months, Ruth. This is not the work of a man who wants to be just friends, is it?_

Her heart trips at the thought.

“I love daisies,” she says. “They're such happy flowers.”

Impulsively, he leans forward and takes the flower from her hand. “Here,” he says and gently guides her chin towards him. Her eyes are luminous and he momentarily loses himself in them before he remembers what he's doing. “May I?” he asks softly.

She nods, unable to find her voice and watches his face as he concentrates on slipping the flower behind her right ear and arranging it just so.

_Such a soft, full, beautiful face. Those lips, those eyes. A beautiful man. Inside and out._

She almost opens her mouth to tell him they should skip the barbecue, go back inside and fall into bed together. But she doesn't have the courage to be that forward. Tonight, she promises herself. She'll have a few glasses of that wine, or Bridget's famous cocktails, and then everything will seem possible.

“There,” he says, pulling back to look at her. He smiles. “Perfect.”

Those eyes. They're looking at him like she can see straight through him.

_Spend the day with me. Forget the barbecue. Let's go somewhere else. Just the two of us._

The thoughts flood his mind and almost spill from his lips, but somehow he manages to keep them firmly closed.

He clears his throat.

“Right. Best be off then,” he says and starts the car.

 _It's too soon. Stick to the plan. A day of cricket, her mad friends and lounging by the pool, and_ then _ask her out. Simple. Straight-forward. Foolproof._

He hopes.


	20. Chapter 20

It turns out to be a little book of Rumi, leather bound and beautifully illustrated, each poem printed in Persian and English. She thinks it must have cost a fortune and is too lost for words. It is honestly the most beautiful present anyone has ever given her.

With trembling hands she opens it to find the inscription.

“Dear Ruth,  
Happy Sunday  
Just because  
Harry”

“Oh Harry,” she breathes, tears filling her eyes.

He smiles and takes his eyes off the road to look at her. “Do you like it?”

“I love it. Thank you.” On impulse she leans over and kisses his cheek. “You're lovely. D'you know that?”

He clears his throat, unable to think of anything to say to that. No one's called him lovely since... well, since Jane, and he can't quite decide how he feels about that.

“I saw it in a second-hand bookshop last week. I'd intended it for Christmas, but then I wanted to give you something now and it seemed a shame to have to wait so long. A lot can happen in six months.”

He tails off, thinking of Zoe.

“Do you think she's all right?” Ruth asks a few moments later.

“Who?”

“Zoe.”

He sighs. “I hope so.”

“Me too... It must be so hard. Not just the going into hiding part, always looking over your shoulder, but leaving everyone you love behind – family, friends. I don't have many friends, and as far as family goes, there's really only my mother, but I'd still find it heart-wrenching. I'm not sure I could do it.”

And what does he say to that? Does he lie and tell her not to worry, that it'll never happen to her, a desk spook? Does he promise to protect her even though they both know that his best efforts are not always good enough? Did he not fail to protect Zoe after all?

“At least she's not alone any more,” she adds before he can reply.

“How d'you mean?”

“Nothing. Forget it. I didn't mean anything by it.” She answers too quickly and when he turns to look at her, he's sure she's hiding something. Her hands are tense, curled around the edges of the book, and she's biting her lower lip, looking out the passenger window.

“Ruth,” he warns.

“Shit!” she mutters.

“Ruth, if I have to stop the car, I will.”

_This is what fucking comes of thinking of Harry as anything other than your bloody boss, Ruth! Danny is going to kill you!_

She rubs her face with her hands.

“Okay,” she says, “but.. um.. don't be angry, all right? It's a good thing, really. Zoe's happy and given how hard it must have been for her-”

“Ruth!”

“Sorry. Right.” She takes a deep breath. “Will North found out where she is and went out there to be with her.”

“Goddammit!” he exclaims, thumping the steering wheel with his hand. “I _told_ Danny not to trust him. I _told_ him not to reveal anything. Look how much trouble his brother caused with those pictures! Who's to say something like it won't happen again? Who's to say _-”_

“Harry,” she interrupts, laying a gentling hand on his forearm. “She sent him a postcard. Zoe sent Danny a postcard with a picture of her and Will together in Chile. She's happy, Harry, to have him there. They were engaged. Maybe they're already married.”

He turns to look at her, the warmth of her hand and her gaze seeping through him, pushing his anger and panic aside.

_You're a bloody hypocrite, Harry Pearce. If she said yes and suddenly disappeared from your life, wouldn't you go to the ends of the earth to find her too, to be with her?_

“I'm not sure life's worth living unless you have people to share it with,” she concludes with a disarming smile. “He won't betray her. He dropped everything and went all the way to _Chile_ to be with her. He'll take care of her, Harry. Don't worry.” And she gives his arm a reassuring squeeze before pulling her hand away again.

He sighs and returns his eyes to the road, slowly nodding his head. “Let's hope so,” he says.


	21. Chapter 21

He's found a spot inside the pavilion from which he can watch the cricket on the large flat-screen TV located on the far wall and also keep an eye on the pool, which unfortunately appears to be currently overrun by children. There are about twenty adults here today, he estimates, and half as many children.

Sadly, Ruth has yet to make an appearance in her bathing suit.

He can wait though.

He's good at the waiting game, especially when there's cricket to watch in the mean time – even if England's game leaves a lot to be desired at the moment, and Mick and his friends are gloating.

_He who laughs last, laughs best. Come on, England!_

Ruth seems to have disappeared inside the house with her friends, no doubt doing whatever it is that women do when men aren't around. He's never worked out that particular mystery despite his many years as a spy.

_Probably for the best. Of some things in life, it is best to not know a great deal, and sometimes, nothing at all._

Ruth's watched a bit of cricket, mainly as an excuse to be near Harry, but most of the morning has been spent catching up with her friends, now that they're all still sober. It's amazing the difference it makes; they're all acting almost normal! She doesn't hold out much hope of it lasting though – not once Bridget starts making the cocktails.

In the meantime, there's so much to tell! She hasn't really kept in touch for several years now – not since she made the move to London. So much has changed, yet at the same time, it feels like yesterday that they were carefree students together. She's the only one who read Classics. June studied Philosophy, Politics and Economics, like Harry, she can't help but remember.

She smiles as she thinks of him and gets up. “Just going to...” She indicates vaguely over her shoulder.

“Can't stay away from him long, can you, Ruth?”

“Yeah. He's got you well and truly snared.”

“Not that I blame you, mind. He's scrumptious. I get first dibs if it doesn't work out.”

“Maggs!!”

“What?”

She smiles as their voices fade when she steps out of the house. They really are mad, her friends, but she loves them dearly and she's missed them, despite their relentless teasing. She feels freer with them than she does with anyone else. They've known her so long that she can be more herself, more like she used to be before she became a spy. It's liberating in many ways, in spite of having to pretend she works for DEFRA. She'll have to make the effort to meet up with them more often, preferably when they're sober and especially now that they'll have to stop with the matchmaking. She works too hard anyway. It'll do her good to have more of a life outside work and – who knows? – perhaps she can persuade Harry to play the dutiful boyfriend again next time.

She smiles at the thought despite the niggle of worry that's wormed its way into her heart. It's becoming alarmingly easy to get lost in the fantasy of being with Harry now and more real every time he's near.

_You're playing with fire, Ruth, and you're going to get burnt._

But she can't back out now. It wouldn't be fair. She brought him here. He's only helping her out.

_Is he though? What about the presents? The way he looks at me?_

All part of the legend, she tells herself crossly.

Just today, she promises herself, then she'll step back to guard her heart.

This _has_ to be the last time, no matter how much she might long to do it again. And again. And again.

_It's not real, Ruth. Get a grip._

She takes a deep breath and steps into the pavilion.

_Right. I can do this. And enjoy it while it lasts._

“How's it going?” she asks, boldly running her fingers through the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Pretty bleak. It's 244 for 8 with seven balls remaining.” He sighs, but then lifts his eyes to hers and smiles up at her, humming with pleasure at her continued caresses. “I like that,” he confesses softly.

“I know you do,” she lies. In truth, it's the first time she's ever touched him like this and it feels quite wonderful. His hair is so soft and it's making his eyes grow darker by the second, his chest rising and falling faster with each breath. It's mesmerising and thrilling all at the same time.

_Christ! I'm in so much trouble._

How can they go back to being just colleagues tomorrow? How do the rest of the team cope when they come back from the field, she wonders.

The way he's looking at her is sending her heart into overdrive and she can feel the dampness pooling between her legs.

She doesn't, _can't_ think as her lips are drawn inexorably towards his. She can't do anything but sigh into his mouth when he pulls her onto his lap. She's powerless to stop the whimper from escaping her as his large, warm hand slips under her top and up her back, his fingers gently running up her spine.

“Get a room, you two,” Mick's laughing voice brings her back to reality with a bump. “We're _trying_ to watch the game here.”

She blushes, turning her face to bury it in his neck, her cheeks crimson with embarrassment.

_Good God, but he smells divine!_

She feels his chest quiver as he chuckles, his hand slipping down to rest against her lower back, still inside her top.

Then she hears him say, “If you insist, Mick. Should we take the master bedroom or one of the guest rooms?”

“Ha!” Mick's laughter is explosive.

“Harry!” she protests, thumping his chest with her fist as she leans back, her cheeks redder than ever.

“What? It wasn't my idea, Ruth. Blame Mick.”

“Insufferable man,” she huffs, extracting herself from his lap and leaving the pavilion with as much dignity as she can muster, the laughter of the others following her out.

“You're in trouble now, Mate,” Dave grins.

“Yeah,” Bill laughs. “You and England both.”

“We'll rally,” he replies with an easy grin though, privately, he's not so sure. Things look pretty bad for England and he can't help worrying that he just pushed things too far with Ruth.

He hadn't meant to do it. He'd intended a quick, chaste brush of their lips, but she'd responded so quickly, so perfectly, that he hadn't been able to hold himself back.

Self-control, self-denial, he reminds himself sternly.

He'll be the perfect gentleman from now on and hope that he hasn't ruined everything already.


	22. Chapter 22

“Right,” Bridget declares, “the kids are watching Harry Potter and the pool is now ours.”

Cheers follow this pronouncement and Maggie yells, “Last one in's a rotten egg!”

The scramble that follows this challenge is mad and utterly hilarious with much playful shoving and pushing and general mayhem, shoes and garments flying about as they strip along the way, and shouts of encouragement and laughter from the men, who temporarily abandon the cricket to watch.

Alex jumps in first with a screech of “Geronimo!” as she dive bombs into the pool. Ruth's not sure what place she gets, but she's sure she's not the last as she dodges round Maggie and Pam to dive gracefully in. She's always loved swimming and is really rather good – if she does say so herself.

She surfaces, laughing as Maggie and Alice grasp her legs and pull her under again.

_Really! They're worse than the kids! Too much wine and Bridge's delicious cocktails._

“Maggs! Stop it!” she gasp as she comes up for air the third time and grasps the edge of the pool, her sides hurting from laughing and desperately trying not to drown in the process. She's managed to make it to the shallow end now where it won't be so easy for them to pull her legs from under her.

“Is she bothering you?”

She turns to see Harry crouching by the pool, his eyes gleaming in the early afternoon sun, his hair looking blonder than ever, arm and leg muscles beautifully bunched as he rests his elbows on his knees, his hands loosely clasped together.

_Christ, he's gorgeous!_

“And if I am? What are you going to do about it?” Maggie taunts, diving under the water to make another attempt at drowning her.

“Quick! Give me your hands and jump,” Harry demands.

She doesn't question it. This is Grid Harry talking.

She reaches up and grasps his forearms as his warm, strong hands close around hers.

“Now!”

She jumps and feels him pull her up all the way out of the water and onto the pool deck beside him, his hands releasing her mid pull and grasping her round the waist to steady her. Even so, she still loses her balance and falls against him, grabbing his upper arms to keep herself upright as he takes a step back to steady them.

_Bloody hell, he's strong! And sexy as hell, and deliciously kissable, and utterly- Stop it, Ruth!_

“I think we might need more practice,” he purrs near her ear, ignoring the twinge from his bad knee.

Breathless, her eyes bright with the rush of adrenaline, she leans back to look at him.

“That was fun,” she declares.

His eyes are twinkling at her and she gets lost in his gaze for long moments until Maggie's voice penetrates the cocoon they've built around themselves.

“Nice moves,” she says. “Do you tango, Harry?”

“Not in a very long time,” he smiles, his eyes still on Ruth's.

She blushes, his eyes telling her that he would very much like to try his hand at it again... with her.

She pulls back a little, dropping her gaze self-consciously only to become aware that his clothes are slowly getting soaked.

“Sorry,” she says. “I'm making you all wet.”

“Hmmm,” he hums. “And here I was hoping it was the other way round.”

Shocked, her eyes fly back to his face to find him smirking, his eyes alight with mischief.

_So much for being a gentleman, Harry._

He can't seem to help himself. He hasn't felt this alive in decades.

“That would be the water,” she replies before she loses her nerve. “But keep trying, Harry. I'm sure you'll rise to the occasion.” And she gives him such an impish smile before she turns around to hide her blush and gracefully dives back into the pool, leaving him standing watching her, his heart beating wildly with hope as he struggles to stop certain parts of him doing just as she's suggested.


	23. Chapter 23

_Bloody hell! I can't believe I just said that! No more Cosmopolitans for you, Ruth._

She's too busy swimming away from him to notice when he enters the pool.

Not that he gives anyone much of a chance to observe him. He's good at not drawing attention to himself when he wants to and he desperately needs to cool off!

A nice long dive and a few strokes do the trick and he's soon ready to face her again.

He spies her at the corner of the pool, looking towards the pavilion.

_Searching for me, Ruth?_

He smiles.

The pool has emptied somewhat, Bridget reappearing with more drinks drawing everyone else away, not to mention the food from the barbecue and the cricket.

So he silently dives under the water, smoothly covering the distance between them.

“Looking for me?” he murmurs.

Her sharp intake of breath is almost followed by a yell, but he covers her mouth with his hand just in time.

“Easy, Ruth. It's only me. No need to yell for help, I hope?”

He pulls his hand away, the look of thunder she gives him making him smirk and earning him a splash of water in the face.

He wipes his eyes with thumb and fingers. “I suppose I deserved that.”

“Too right you did,” she huffs.

“Forgive me.” He's doing that thing with his eyes again, making them soft and warm and inviting.

_Dear God, how am I meant to resist him?_

“Harry,” she whispers only to be interrupted by his kiss.

It's not soft or warm or inviting.

It's hard and hot and overpowering.

She grasps him, hands on his shoulders, his back, his neck and in his hair, feeling, exploring his skin for the first time.

 _God, he feels so good. So fucking good!_ And _he can kiss like the devil._

 _His_ hands are not exploring – one hand in her wet hair, the other between her shoulder blades, the barest hint of skin against his fingertips on either side of her swimsuit.

He doesn't reach for more. He doesn't trust himself not to lose control completely.

“You'd think you two haven't had sex in months,” Alex comments, making them start and spring apart.

“Sod off, Alex,” he grumbles, reaching for Ruth's hand under the water, but it only serves to make her laugh.

“I like you, Harry,” she says. “At least you're honest. It's a fine quality that's lacking in most men.”

_Shit!_

His gaze turns to Ruth, but he doesn't have a chance to catch more than a glimpse of her troubled, blue eyes before she's gone, saying something about being hungry and swimming away to the other end of the pool where she gets out.

_Christ, she's beautiful. Fuck!_

The sinking feeling in his stomach is back and he's going to _kill_ Alex!

“You're welcome.”

He glares at her and almost succumbs to the temptation to pull her into the pool in childish retaliation.

“What? You think I didn't just save both your necks?” Alex asks. “There are kids around, you know, and if Bridget had caught you fucking in the pool, you'd have been in deep shit, I can tell you.”

 _Christ on a bike! What is_ wrong _with these people?!_

“Speaking from experience?” he replies without missing a beat. He isn't a spy for nothing.

She gives him an enigmatic smile before getting up and walking away.

_Drunk and mad, the lot of them._

Or perhaps he's just old and past it. He can remember doing some pretty crazy things when he was in his thirties too, especially when fuelled by alcohol and women – the wrong kind of women. Having sex in a tree, for instance. Or maybe that had been at university.

He sighs.

He can't wait to grab Ruth and get out of here.

His thoughts drift back to the look on her face before she left him.

_You're an idiot, Harry. You should have said something earlier. God only knows what she's thinking now!_

He has to come clean and soon.


	24. Chapter 24

“What the hell happened to you?”

He stops rubbing his hair dry and looks up.

Maggie just nods at his chest and he has to suppress a sigh. This is exactly why he avoids situations where he has to remove his shirt in public. He's always having to explain away the scars.

“Northern Ireland,” he says shortly, throwing the towel over his shoulder to dry his back.

One way or another, his legends always end up having military service, and usually Northern Ireland, in common in their backgrounds.

“Really? How dashing! What were you doing there?”

“British Army. I joined up straight out of university.”

“Dashing _and_ brave! Lucky Ruth!”

He frowns at her. “Maggie, didn't we have this conversation the other night?”

“I don't believe so. I'd have remembered.”

“Hands off, Maggie.” Ruth's voice steps in to rescue him. “He's mine.”

He turns to his left to see her walking towards them, a plate of food in one hand, smiling.

The relief is almost overpowering. He's been half-scared she'll be avoiding him after what happened in the pool.

“Here,” she says, holding out the plate. “Eat something. You must be starving.”

Starving for you, he thinks, but doesn't say it out loud. He's a little wary of her reaction right now.

“Thank you.”

He takes the plate from her with his right hand, his left still holding the towel. He would very much like to change back into his clothes. He's feeling rather exposed.

Most of the scars look like burns and she feels a twinge at the thought of how he must have got them. Harry in pain is such a distressing thought and it pulls at her heart strings.

_Tortured. It's no wonder he hates the IRA so much._

Then before she quite knows what she's doing, she's placed her right palm over one scar on his left side and has reached round to kiss the bullet wound on his left shoulder.

_Tom. Oh Tom. What did you do?_

She has to suppress a shudder at the memories. The story she'd invented at the hospital – that had been the first time she'd realised the truth of her feelings for Harry.

He freezes, overcome by emotion as he watches her pull back, his gaze locking with hers. She's blushing and he can't help the way his heart beats faster at the realisation that she's acted out of genuine feeling in this moment.

_There's no way back from this. I have to make her see that, see us, see how good we could be together._

“You two are sickeningly adorable,” Maggie huffs.

“You're just jealous,” Ruth smiles, looking away from his mesmerising eyes. She could so easily get lost in them, spend years trying to find her way out.

_Perhaps I'd never want to leave. And that is exactly the problem when you're pretty sure none of this is real, Ruth, isn't it?_

Oh, she knows the sexual tension is real enough. But after everything they've acted out today, he'd have to be a saint or gay to not be turned on at this point, and she knows for a fact that he's neither.

It doesn't surprise her in the least that he wants her. But it also doesn't mean he's looking for commitment either – for love.

“Of course I'm bloody jealous! We all want what you have!”

“Speak for yourself!” Alice says, getting up from the deck-chair she's been lounging on. “I'm very happy without a man in my life, thank you very much.”

“Yes, we know. But you have June. You already have what I'm talking about. So does Bridget.” She sighs.

“So let me get this straight,” Alice says. “You want a long-term, committed relationship, but the blokes you date rarely last more than – what? – five dates?”

“Three.”

“Do you not see what is wrong with this picture?”

“Yes! I'm terribly unlucky!”

“Or maybe you're not choosy enough,” Ruth suggests.

“Or you're looking in the wrong places,” Alice adds.

“Whatever,” Maggie shrugs. “I need a refill. Bridget!” She yells her name and makes a bee-line for the bar.

Harry visibly relaxes, making Ruth smile.

“Don't worry about her,” Alice says. “She only ever flirts with men she knows would never betray their partners. It used to be just Mick and Dave, but I guess you've made the short-list too now.”

Harry lifts his eyebrows incredulously.

_Jesus wept! That's all I need._

Alice shrugs. “She'd never steal someone's lover. Not from her friends. It's not who Maggie is, but she loves to flirt, so if there are no single blokes around...” She tails off and changes the subject. “Those look serious. Did you see someone for them?”

Harry frowns, thrown by the shift in conversation.

“The burns,” she clarifies.

“Oh those. They're thirty odd years old now.”

“I can see that.” Her gaze is searching his. “Did you see someone for them, thirty odd years ago? And I don't mean a doctor. That kind of pain leaves scars that are not visible to the naked eye.”

Now he's taken aback.

_What the hell does she know about it? A psychologist? Heaven forbid!_

“Alice is a doctor in A&E,” Ruth murmurs softly.

He glances at Ruth and then looks back at Alice.

“I did. Thank you for your concern.”

“Northern Ireland, was it?”

“Yes.”

She nods and smiles, then reaches forward and pats his arm in a reassuring doctor kind of way.

“Hard times,” she says. He purses his lips, unsure of what to say to that, thinking of Bill and all the others, but she doesn't give him a chance to speak before changing the subject slightly. “That one on your shoulder looks more recent. Someone try to rob your bank?”

“No. It was an accident actually. He missed.”

“Was he aiming for your head or your heart?”

He laughs.

“Neither. He was trying to scare me off. I think he was aiming for a spot on the wall to my left.”

“You're lucky he wasn't a worse shot.”

“I know,” he smiles, then sensing an opportunity to escape, he adds, “Now, if you'll excuse me, I'm going to get changed.” And with that he makes a hasty retreat to the pool-house.

_Christ, he's got a gorgeous arse!_

“Are you sure he's a banker?” Alice asks as they watch him walk away.

It's Ruth's turn to be taken aback.

“Yes. Why?”

“Those scars... You don't often meet bankers with scars and certainly not that many. He was tortured?”

“He was in the army for a while. He doesn't talk about it much. Then he followed in his father's footsteps and entered the banking business.” She must remember to tell Harry this later. If she sticks close enough to the truth, it shouldn't be too hard to pull this off. “Why? Do you think I should be worried?”

“I don't know. Burns and old knife wounds are one thing, but the gunshot wound is recent... Have you asked him about it?”

“He was... seeing a married woman before we met,” she invents quickly. “Her husband did that.”

To her surprise, Alice laughs. “My, my, Ruth, you _have_ got yourself a naughty man.”

She smiles.

 _You have no idea, Alice. You have_ no _idea._


	25. Chapter 25

Everyone's watching the cricket now.

It looked like it was over for England just a little while ago when Vaughan and Jones went out in quick succession, but Pietersen seems to have upped the ante, reaching his fifty off 46 balls and filling everyone with hope again. Well, all the English people anyway. And thankfully, it appears he isn't quite done yet, much to the dismay and disgust of Mick and his Aussie mates.

“Come on, Kevin,” Ruth calls enthusiastically in the midst of the others' boos and shouts of encouragement. It's proving to be rather fun watching with an almost equally divided group of people.

She feels Harry slowly lean towards her making her heart skip several beats.

_Damn him!_

Why does he have to have such a strong effect on her? For the last hour, she's been stubbornly trying to distance herself emotionally while still continuing with the charade, despite knowing how futile an attempt it is.

“Kevin?” he murmurs near her ear.

“That's his name,” she counters, trying hard not to blush and failing.

“Fan of his, are you?”

“Well, no, I wouldn't say a fan exactly. Why? Are you jealous?”

She turns her head to give him a playful grin, only to feel her mouth go dry and her heart stop at the intense, smouldering look he gives her.

“Hardly,” he murmurs. “I've got you right beside me, Ruth. I've tasted your lips. What does he have exactly?”

She daren't, _can't_ breathe as she struggles to find her voice. Surely this can't be the legend speaking, can it? He must feel-

“Out!” Mick and his Aussie mates yell, making her jump and shattering the moment between them.

 


	26. Chapter 26

“We did it!” Ruth jumps up, thrilled by the result, and turns towards him. “We won!”

He doesn't hesitate, taking full advantage of the opportunity to draw her into an embrace that she returns with equal enthusiasm.

“Have dinner with me, Ruth,” he murmurs in her ear, the euphoria of the moment making him bold.

She pulls back to look at him, her clear gaze piercing, making him feel uncomfortably exposed.

“Why?”

_Because I'm madly in love with you._

“Because I enjoy your company,” he replies, “and I would like to get to know you better.”

She's still watching him, searching his gaze for God knows what.

“Please?” he says when he can no longer stand the suspense. “Let me take you out, or I could cook for you if you prefer?”

“Potato salad?” She smiles this time and the relief is so great that he almost has to sit down.

“With chilli con carne and a trifle for dessert?” he offers.

She grins and kisses him, firmly, fully on the lips.

He thinks he might have died and gone to heaven.

“Deal,” she replies as she pulls back laughing.


	27. Chapter 27

“I've got one,” she says eventually.

“I'm listening.” He smiles as he glances at her, head bent over the book he's given her. She hasn't put it down since they got back into the car to head home. He knew she'd like it. He hadn't expected her to love it quite this much though.

“When grapes turn to wine, they long for our ability to change,” she begins.  
“When stars wheel around the North Pole,  
they are longing for our growing consciousness.  
Wine got drunk with us, not the other way.  
The body developed out of us, not we from it.  
We are bees, and our body is a honeycomb.  
We made the body, cell by cell we made it.”

He considers the poem for a moment. Then he says, “Tell that to your friends. They definitely don't share his opinion about wine.”

She giggles at that, exclaiming, “Harry!” and playfully swatting his arm.

Or she would have done if he hadn't caught her hand mid-swing and lifted it to his lips before twining their fingers together and resting their hands on his thigh.

When he looks at her again, she appears lost for words.

“What?” he asks. “I've always had pretty good reflexes.”

His eyes are twinkling at her, and if he weren't driving, she wouldn't be able to stop herself from kissing him.

_Can he possibly get any more wonderful? How can he be so different from work Harry? Is this real or just a game to him?_

His behaviour since they left her mad friends hasn't changed one bit and she can't make up her mind if he's still pretending, or if perhaps he never was. She's so nervous now that they're alone and yet he doesn't seem to be. If anything he seems more confident.

_Is that because I said yes to dinner? Is he just... happy? Or is he perhaps continuing with the charade for some reason? Because it's easier, or because he misses being out in the field, or to get me into bed, or for another reason I haven't even thought of yet?_

She's never been drawn to a man like this before, like a magnet to its opposite pole.

Nor has she ever had to worry that she won't find the strength to say no if he tries to seduce her.

 _What was I_ thinking _saying yes to dinner at his_ house _?!_

“So does that book contain any love poems?”

She looks away.

_Is he toying with me now? Love? God, I'm so confused!_

“Ruth?”

“Yes... um... a few.”

There's silence for a moment. Then he says, “Do I have to beg?”

When she glances at him, there's a teasing smile on his lips.

_Insufferable man. I'll show you, Harry Pearce. Two can play at this game._

She takes her hand away to turn the pages and he immediately regrets his teasing and the loss of her hand in his.

“How about this one? It's called Love Makes.”

“Go on then.”

“Love makes bitter things sweet.” she reads softly, seductively he thinks. “Love turns copper to gold. With love dregs settle into clarity. With love suffering ceases. Love brings the dead back to life. Love transforms the King into a slave. Love is the consummation of Gnosis. How could a fool sit on such a throne?”

The silence is pregnant, the atmosphere thick and heavy. It's suddenly hard to breathe.

“I like it.” She breaks the tension first, forcing her mind to analyse. It's what's she's good at and what gets her through most difficult situations in life. “People often think love brings suffering, but it's not true. Loss makes us suffer, not love. Love makes life worth living.”

She's looking out the window and he wonders what she's thinking, _who_ she's thinking of. A stab of jealousy surprises him. Then he remembers her father. Perhaps her mind is full of him.

His mother would have loved this poem. She was always so... alive, so full of energy, her heart overflowing with love for him, for Ben, for his father, for everyone really. She'd always been such an active member of her church, organising fund-raisers, helping people. She'd cared, and he suspects that that's where he gets it from – this need to serve and protect. He smiles as he thinks of her.

_Love brings the dead back to life. How true. And what was the next line? Ah yes. Transforms the King to a slave._

He looks back at Ruth to find her watching him.

“What are you thinking?” she boldly asks.

“That Elvis never read Rumi.”

She frowns in confusion.

“Only fools rush in?”

And now she smiles, nodding.

“I confess I'm not much of an Elvis fan. A bit before my time.”

Does it bother her, he wonders, the age difference between them? She's so bright, so brilliant, so wise and mature that he often forgets that he's practically old enough to be her father. In all honesty, he's not sure how he feels about that himself. All he knows is that he can't go back now. He has to see this through, try to make it work. He cannot bear the thought of losing her without a fight.

_Love makes bitter things sweet. Settles dregs into clarity._

“It was a good game,” she says, surprising him, his thoughts still stuck on love and them. “I don't often watch cricket, but I enjoyed the comeback. It looked like England were done for for a while there.”

“Indeed. But we rallied... Thanks to _Kevin_.”

She smiles. “Still jealous?”

He doesn't reply for a moment while he successfully negotiates a roundabout.

“I don't know, Ruth. He had you cheering for him for quite a while there. Any man would envy that.”

“I cheer for you too, Harry.”

He looks at her askance. “I think I'd have noticed, Ruth. I'm not losing my hearing just yet.”

She smiles. She finds it so endearing this self-deprecating side of him. There's something very English about it and also rather personal; it's not something she ever sees at work. Work Harry would never say a thing like that.

“Not out loud, obviously. I'm sure the Home Secretary would have something to say about that, not to mention the new DG or Mace. I don't have a death wish. But inside my head, I'm always cheering you on.” Then feeling embarrassed to have revealed so much, she hastily adds, “We all are.”

He smiles. “Perhaps,” he concedes, “but knowing that Malcolm, Adam, or Sam are rooting for me doesn't bring me nearly as much pleasure as _your_ silent cheers do.”

He glances at her to see her reaction and finds her looking down at her hands, blushing.

“Perhaps I should take up cricket again,” he muses out loud as an image of Ruth cheering him on from the sidelines on a lazy, Sunday afternoon fills his mind and heart.

_Dream on, Harry. That's about as likely to happen as your Grand Tour._

When he glances at her again, she looks surprised. And a little amused, he notes.

“Cricket?”

_Yup. Definitely amused. And sweetly trying to hide her incredulity._

“I used to be quite good.”

“I have no doubt.”

He turns to look at her, narrowing his eyes at her slightly. Is she teasing again?

“I mean it,” she says. “I'm sure you're good at anything physical.” She blushes, her thoughts full of a naked Harry in her bed getting very physical indeed! “And intellectual,” she adds hastily. “Anything you put your mind to really. You're very smart. Obviously or you wouldn't be a spy, but all your assessments say you're good at the physical stuff too. Unlike me. Not that I've seen them or anything. I mean...” She stops and takes a deep breath, glancing at him to find him grinning from ear to ear. “I think I'd best stop digging now.”

He chuckles.

“I won't ask how you know all that,” he murmurs and feels her relax a little beside him. She's looking out the passenger window and, knowing Ruth, probably blushing furiously. “But I will ask why.”

“What?” she squeaks, her eyes darting to his and away again.

“Why did you look up that information about me, Ruth?”

“Well, I...” she stammers, looking down at her hands that are fiddling furiously with her book. “I... I felt a certain amount of... curiosity, obviously.” She pauses and takes a deep breath. “I find you quite... baffling at times, Harry,” she says, turning to look at him this time and stilling her hands, determined to be brave. “What happened with JJ... I needed to know, _understand_ what kind of person you are, so I did some... research.”

He smiles.

_How very Ruth!_

“And did it help?”

“Yes and no.” She sighs. “Turns out, there are things you can't learn from a book... or an MI-5 personnel file.” She hears him chuckle again at that.

“What do you want to know?” he finds himself asking, startling himself almost as much as her.

“What? Just like that?”

He doesn't reply for a moment, focusing his gaze on the road. They've almost arrived at her place now and he tells himself he needs to make sure he doesn't miss the turn.

But it's a lie.

If he's honest, he's perilously close to revealing too much and he needs to stall her until he's stopped the car and can give her his undivided attention.

Love is his weakness.

He's only ever compromised himself, given away too much, when he's thought himself in love. An image of Juliet Shaw, naked and smoking a cigarette after sex, fills his mind and makes him clench his jaw in anger. He'd been such an idiot when he was young.

_Thank God, she's still in America._

Which reminds him. He needs to check up on her, make sure no one's thinking to bring her home. Little does she know that he's one of the reasons she's been stuck out there so long.

_They'll be hell to pay if she ever finds out._

Reining in his wondering thoughts, he slows in front of her home, searching for somewhere to park. As luck would have it, no sooner does he pass her door, when he sees a car pull out in front of him and quickly swings into the empty parking spot.

“That was lucky,” he says.

She nods, but doesn't say anything, the disappointment palpable.

_What did you expect, Ruth? He's a spook. You're not about to tell him all your secrets either._

She turns to smile at him and thank him for his help with her friends, but she falters at the intense look in his eyes.

“It depends, Ruth,” he murmurs softly.

“Depends on what?”

She holds her breath.

“On whether your reasons for wanting to know are professional or personal.”

She stares at him for a long moment, the silence deafening in it's intensity, but before she can reply, he opens the car door and gets out, closing it and walking round the car to get the door for her.


	28. Chapter 28

“Come in for a coffee or a drink?” she asks quickly before she loses her nerve. It's not even dark yet – just gone seven o'clock. “You know... to celebrate.”

She's not sure why she adds that excuse. It's obvious they need to talk. His question has left her heart agitated and her mind in turmoil, and she won't be able to sleep a wink tonight unless she figures out what he feels for her too. His words and actions all day are completely at odds with his reputation, her knowledge of him from work, her limited experience with men, not to mention the fact that he was supposed to be pretending. She's no idea what is real any more and what's an act.

She has to be brave.

She's _determined_ to be brave.

“A drink sounds good,” he agrees, rubbing his eyebrows with fingers and thumb.

Her hands fumble with the keys, her nerves getting the better of her for a moment. If he notices, he doesn't comment.

They leave their jackets and bags in the hall and she leads him through to the front room before excusing herself to get their drinks. She needs a moment to pull herself together before this conversation.

She hands him his glass of whisky and quickly takes another fortifying sip of her wine; she already drank almost a full glass in the kitchen. She can't remember the last time she felt like this.

“What shall we drink to?” he asks softly, looking up at her from his seat on the settee.

His gaze is gentle and kind again, the intensity of the look he'd given her in the car gone.

“England?” she suggests, her mind blank.

“To many more enjoyable days like this then, spent in good company and ending on the high note of an English victory.”

She nods, too lost for words. He can't possibly feel it too, she concludes. How could he if he can still string together such eloquent sentences? She can barely manage single words.

“I don't bite, Ruth,” he murmurs, giving her a lopsided little smile.

“What?”

“You can sit. I won't bite.”

“Oh!” She blushes. “Sorry. I'm just… It's been a long day and-”

“You're right.” He nods and drops his gaze, cursing himself for allowing his self-control to slip again and accept her offer of a drink.

_Bloody Juliet Shaw! You can't let her ruin this, Harry. Ruth is no Juliet. Ruth is all that is good and kind. For once, you've fallen in love with the right woman. Don't blow it now. Focus. Forget Juliet and focus on the here and now. Focus on Ruth._

He shouldn't have asked her, he realises. I had been the thought of Juliet that had made him do it, made him calculating and suspicious for a moment.

But it had been too much for Ruth.

He's put her on the spot instead of letting things 'crinkle out' as Adam is so fond of saying.

And now, his presence is making her uncomfortable and he doesn't want that.

It's the last thing he wants.

He should go home, leave this for next time, at his place, when he cooks for her... Assuming she still wants to...

_Please, please let this not be the end._

He sets his glass down and puts his hands on his knees, preparing to rise. “It's getting late. I'd better be off.”

“No!” she protests far too loudly and takes a hasty step towards him, straight into the edge of the coffee table. “Ow!!” she exclaims, bending over to put her glass down and rubbing her shin. “Thing!”

“Are you all right?” He's beside her, his face a picture of concern as he gently guides her to the sofa and sits on the edge next to her.

“Fine,” she replies, blushing furiously. God, but she can be such a clumsy clot sometimes. “It's just a little bump. I'm fine.” She rubs her shin again and reaches for her drink, draining the rest before returning it to the table and leaning back against the sofa, closing her eyes with a sigh and draping her arm across them. “I'm such an idiot,” she mutters to herself.

“You may be many things, Ruth, but an idiot is not one of them.” His voice is low and gruff, sending shivers running up her spine, and when she lowers her arm and opens her eyes, she finds his gaze on her – intense, wanting.

He wants to kiss her so badly that he can't seem to help himself – he leans in.

“Harry,” she murmurs, half-protest, half-plea, as his lips approach hers.

“Ruth,” he replies with such yearning, such conviction that, when their lips come together, she grasps him and pulls him towards her, her nerves melting away in a rush of adrenalin and desire.

It is all he needs. The feel of her arms wrapping around his neck, pulling him close, is enough to ignite an inferno in him that has the last vestiges of his self-control vaporizing, vanishing like smoke.

It feels so right to be snogging him like this – kisses getting deeper, hearts beating wildly, breathing rugged, passion surging between them.

Who cares if he's her boss? Who cares if this is just lust born of the adrenaline and desire generated by his legend? Who cares if he doesn't love her, if this cannot be anything but a short fling, or even a one-night stand?

 _I do_ , her heart whispers only to be ignored, its protests squashed by an onslaught of burning need.

_Forget everything. Live in the moment, Ruth. He wants you, you want him. That's all that matters._

A poem she's just read in the car flits through her mind.

'Your task is not to seek for love, but merely to seek and find all the barriers within yourself that you have built against it.'

_Thank God for Rumi._

“Come with me,” she says, and grasping him by the hand, she leads him not to the front door, but to the foot of the stairs instead.


	29. Chapter 29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N A wonderfully long chapter today, and seeing as my other fic that I was going to write for Harry's birthday never got written, this is also serving the purpose of a birthday fic for Harry. Happy birthday, Harry Pearce, you immortal god! Hope you all enjoy as much as I'm sure Ruth is enjoying this.

He can't believe his luck. Truly he can't.

He'd never expected this.

Hoped, yes, but expected? Never.

She's always been so shy around him, so timid and reserved.

Except in front of her mad friends.

He draws her to him for another kiss and she willingly complies, her mouth and body moulding to his. He groans.

_Fuck!_

Their progress up the stairs is slow – a few steps gained followed by a long pause while they kiss.

He seems a little punch-drunk on their kisses and it boosts her confidence, making her bolder.

They pull up for air and she turns again, leading him up the final two steps to the landing.

They only make it as far as the doorway to the guest-room before he draws her into his arms again. She lets go of his hand now – she's nowhere else to lead him. She's sure he can find his own way to her bed.

Immediately his hand finds its way into her hair where his other is already embedded, holding her head steady while he devours her lips, his thumbs stroking every part of her face they can reach. Her lips tingle, her breasts feel heavy, her loins are throbbing, aching with the need of him.

The fog of desire is making it impossible to think.

_God, yes! Yes! Harry. Oh yes, Harry!_

Her fingers are unbuttoning his shirt of their own volition, pulling it free of his shorts, gliding up his body, appreciation filling her mind. He's so solid, so broad, so strong, so male. She grasps the flesh around his nipples, squeezing and making him groan and break the kiss.

He stills, breathing harsh, forehead resting against hers for a few moments before he lifts his head to look at her. His eyes are dark, almost black and glazed with lust, but she can see them clearing, sharpening their focus on hers.

They stand in silence for a moment, his hands still cradling her head, hers resting on his chest, flushed skin under her fingertips.

“Ruth,” he murmurs softly, reverently. “ _Christ_ , Ruth.” His voice cracks and he clears his throat.

“Come to bed, Harry,” she smiles, pleased and confident in the face of his weakness.

He shakes his head as if to clear it. “Are you sure about this?” He searches her gaze.

_Yes! Come on, Ruth. Say, yes! We've just finished analysing this. We're living in the moment, remember? Removing the barriers to love._

But she hesitates.

 _Damn him_ for making her stop and think.

“Ruth?”

“I want you,” she murmurs, eyes still on his, searching.

“But?” he prompts.

“I've never done this before.”

He tilts his head to the side, considering her. “This?” he asks softly.

_Surely she can't possibly mean sex, can she?_

The lust is gone from his eyes now and there is a gentleness that's replaced it. He cares, she realises and it gives her the courage to go on.

“Had sex with a colleague, my...” She stops herself in time. “The lines are getting all muddled up and blurry and I don't know what to do.”

“We don't have to do this, Ruth.”

“I know.” She sighs. “But I want to,” she admits in a whisper.

He smiles and gently guides her into his arms. She sighs again as she rests her head on his shoulder and feels his lips brush her hair. He's so warm and soft and wonderful, and he smells divine. She closes her eyes and inhales deeply. She feels so safe here. How can that be after only two – not even proper – dates?

_God, I'm so confused! Well done, Ruth. You've really done it this time. And that glass of wine isn't helping any. Legend Harry and real Harry are all one jumbled mess._

“I'm sorry,” she whispers.

“Don't be,” he murmurs, pulling back to look at her, his fingers softly stroking her cheek as he pushes her hair out of her face.

“I feel like such an idiot. I didn't mean to lead you on. I just... I'm so confused.”

“Well, we can't have that now, can we?” he smiles fondly down at her. “Our best analyst confused? Surely there must be something to be done about that?”

“You're teasing me,” she complains, but it still makes her feel a whole lot better. If Harry can joke about it, things can't be that bad and he can't be that angry.

“Only a little bit,” he smiles. “What's troubling you, Ruth?”

“I don't know.” She sighs and rubs her face. “I'm not used to this. The legend thing, I mean. It's all a little mixed up in my head.”

“Understandable given that we know each other quite well and work closely together,” he says, seeking to reassure her despite the pain and doubts that suddenly besiege him.

_God, please tell me you feel something too, Ruth? Tell me this isn't happening just because you've lost yourself in a legend._

“I suppose.” She drops her gaze from his face to his chest, the disappointment catching her unawares.

“What is it, Ruth?”

“Nothing. It's nothing.”

“It's clearly something.”

“I don't know who you are,” she blurts out. “No, that didn't come out right. You're so different today, so sweet and... playful. And I love that and I'm starting to believe that it's part of who you are, but then I think about it and realise that it might not be, it might be something you're pretending to be, and I just don't know what to believe any more. You're so good at what you do, such a brilliant spy... I thought I knew you, but now I'm not so sure. I really have no idea who you are, how you feel about me, what you're thinking.”

 _Oh Ruth! You_ do _know me. Better than anyone else._

“Hmmm,” he hums. “I'm not sure I agree with that, Ruth. The number of times you finish my sentences...”

“That's different. It's work. We're on the same wavelength at work.”

“Then perhaps what we need is to spend more time together away from work,” he suggests, “to be on the same wavelength there too.”

She lifts her gaze to his in surprise.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

“Ruth.” He's doing that staring thing again, waiting for her to fill the silence.

“I... I didn't realise you wanted...” She blushes and looks away.

“To spend time with you?”

She nods.

“Why else would I volunteer to help you out with your mad friends?! Or ask you round to dinner?”

“I... I don't know.” She's not quite meeting his gaze now and he's sure he can guess what she's thinking.

“Look at me, Ruth,” he murmurs.

She swallows and looks up, relieved to find his gaze full of understanding instead of the accusation she's half expecting.

“It's not about the sex,” he says gently. “I _do_ want you. That's hardly a secret at this point, is it?” Here she blushes and looks away again and he can't help finding it utterly charming. “But it's not all I want. If it had been, we wouldn't have stopped to have this conversation – believe me.”

She looks a little shocked at that admission. “You would have _forced-”_

“No,” he interrupts. “Not forced – seduced. I'm pretty good at that.”

And she feels his right hand leave her hip, where it's been resting, and gently shimmy up her spine, making an involuntary shiver ripple through her and a small whimper escape her lips.

_Oh fuck! He's good._

He smiles at her reaction.

“How do you do that?” she asks in wonder as she opens her eyes again. They've drifted closed without her permission, damn them.

“Practice, experimentation and a good memory,” he replies, his eyes darker than before.

“You mean like this?” And she slides her hand up his chest, squeezing his pecks and making him groan.

His eyes are dangerously dark and clouded now.

“Sensitive nipples?” she teases, unable to stop herself. The power she has over him is such a new, thrilling sensation.

“No more than yours, I imagine,” he growls, his gaze dropping to her chest and it is with the greatest self-control imaginable that he manages to keep his hands firmly planted on her hips. He has yet to touch her there and the longing is almost unbearable.

Her breasts feel heavy again, her insides warm and liquid. She wants him and yet...

“How do you know it's not just lust?” she blurts out.

“How do _you_?” he counters.

“I never lust after men. The physical alone has never been enough to tempt me.”

Her sudden forthrightness makes him wonder if perhaps she's a little drunk.

“Are you saying you have feelings for me, Ms Evershed?” he murmurs, drawing a little closer.

“I guess I am.” Her voice is breathless. “Do you?”

“Absolutely. I adore myself. Who wouldn't? Such a gorgeous, intelligent man, who – I'll have you know – is a devil in the bedroom.”

She giggles, her eyes dancing with merriment.

“I love to make you laugh,” he confesses softly. “These dimples,” he lifts a fingertip to touch one, “are delightful. I think I could spend all day watching you smile.”

He's ever so close again now, his eyes soft and enticing and she begins to wonder if maybe she's been too quick to over-analyse him, them, their situation. Maybe it's as simple as Harry finding her as wonderful, as irresistible as she finds him. Maybe he's just as much in love with her as she is with him. Maybe this gentle, gorgeous Harry is real, but he's just for her.

“Ruth,” he murmurs as if reading her mind, “you are a wonderful, intelligent, kind-hearted, and beautiful woman. I'm drawn to be near you. What man would not want to spend time with you?”

“You'd be surprised,” she replies, dropping her gaze self-consciously. “I don't think I've received more than a dozen invitations to dinner in my life and I'm thirty-five years old.”

“Selfishly, I'm rather glad.” She looks up at him sharply to find him smiling. “Though I'm sorry it's undermined your confidence. Believe me, there is no need for that.”

She loses herself in his gentle, engaging gaze again.

“I find you captivating, intriguing, dazzling and so desirable that, I confess, some days I can barely function. There is never a dull moment when I'm with you. And I _want_ to be with you, Ruth.” He pauses. Her gaze is so open, so full of wonder and pleasure all of a sudden that it quite takes his breath away. “And I couldn't bear the thought of Danny having that opportunity instead,” he whispers, hoping to take the edge off a little. He's perilously close to losing control and the bed is just _there_.

It works. It makes her laugh.

“I've often wondered what it would be like to kiss a man with lips like Danny's,” she teases.

He narrows his eyes at her. Happy Ruth is a relentless tease, he decides and wonders what a very thoroughly serviced and satisfied Ruth might be like.

_Steady, old boy. Hold it together. Self-control._

“I had no idea you could be so cruel, Ruth,” he says in a hurt tone.

“Sorry,” she apologises quickly. “If it's any consolation, I've wondered what it would be like to kiss your lips almost from my first day on the Grid.”

He smiles. “And did it live up to your expectations?” He leans in and softly brushes his lips against hers.

She sighs. “Oh yes. It's surpassed them by far.”

He kisses her again, a longer, more luxurious kiss this time, his hands slipping back into her hair, a whimper of pleasure escaping her throat.

_Easy now, Harry. Easy now. Self-control. Self-control._

He lifts his head to look at her, watching a smile spread across her lips, her eyes still closed as her dimples deepen until they're out in full force and he doesn't think he's ever seen a sight more beautiful. When they open, her eyes are dark pools of ocean blue, swirling, pulling him in.

_I'm going to drown in these eyes one day._

“Let's go back downstairs, Ruth,” he says gruffly, his self-control almost in tatters.

“What? Why?” She frowns.

“Because it's too soon for this. Standing in the doorway to your bedroom... I'm not sure how much longer I can resist the temptation.”

“That's not my room.” She smiles, the thought of Harry finding her irresistible warming her heart and boosting her confidence.

“It's not?” He peers into the room. Now she mentions it, it does look a little too tidy by Ruth's standards, hardly lived in at all.

“My bedroom is across there,” she explains, “but I have a single bed.”

He returns his eyes to hers. “Why?” He frowns, puzzled.

She looks a little embarrassed. “I'm quite small. I don't need a double bed to sleep comfortably and... I feel lonely if there's too much space beside me and no one to fill it.”

His heart constricts at the thought of Ruth lying in a vast, empty bed, feeling alone.

“Ruth,” he whispers, reaching his hands up to stroke her face. “You don't ever have to feel lonely again.”

His lips move down to take hers of their own volition, and when she slips her arms over his shoulders and pulls him close, he knows that he is lost. He can no longer resist her siren call, and judging by her deep sigh of contentment, she's just as happy to follow where he leads.


	30. Chapter 30

Head pillowed on his shoulder, his hand gently stroking her hair, she thinks she might well never manage to move again, will quite possibly never want to.

_Wow! Who knew it could be this good?_

She sighs in contentment, softly moving her fingers against his skin, gently toying with the sparse, fine hair on his chest. Idly she wonders what time it is. The sun has almost set, she guesses from the gathering dusk outside the window. Nine o'clock maybe?

“All right?” he murmurs, the first words either of them have spoken in what feels like aeons.

She thinks she must have dozed for a bit, nestled in his arms, and wonders if he did too.

“Mmmm,” she hums. She can't quite bring herself to speak just yet. Instead she tilts her head back and kisses his jaw.

In answer he presses his lips against her forehead and brings his right hand round to gently cover her left one, clasping it in his.

_I love you._

It has been the most beautiful, most emotional, most satisfying sexual act he has experienced in a very long time.

It has also been the briefest.

Much to his very great shame and regret, he just hadn't been able to hold himself back, hadn't been able to last very long at all. He's almost certain she came, but...

“I'm sorry,” he whispers, the words escaping him before he can stop them.

“I'm not,” she mumbles.

He chuckles, her simple reply making a world of difference. He'll do better next time, he decides. Next time he'll take her to the moon and back.

A few moments pass in silence.

“Why are you sorry?” she asks softly.

He can feel the uncertainly, the tension in her and he silently kicks himself.

_Way to go, Harry. What a thing to tell her right after your first time together!_

“I'm sorry I couldn't... hold back. I'm sorry I didn't-”

Gently she presses her fingertips against his lips to silence him.

“It was perfect, Harry. You were wonderful.”

She lifts herself onto her right forearm, her sated, hooded gaze meeting his as she smiles softly down at him, her hair falling over one shoulder, a cascade of chocolate brown, her eyes a myriad shades of blue.

_Good God, but she is breathtaking!_

“You're too hard on yourself, Harry. Don't spoil it with guilty and regret. It's okay for things not to go according to plan sometimes, you know. You can't control everything, all the time. It's pointless to even try. And besides...” She pauses and traces his jaw with her fingertips. “I enjoyed it... A _lot_. Didn't you?”

“I did,” he admits. “More than a lot.”

Her smile broadens and her gaze softens even more.

“You're beautiful,” he murmurs huskily, overcome by her.

_Sweet and kind and gentle – that's what she's like after sex. Loving. Christ, she's perfect. How could I be so lucky?_

“I'm hungry,” she says.

“Me too.” He gives her a playful, suggestive look complete with an eyebrow wiggle that makes her giggle.

“For food,” she clarifies. “And I could murder a cup of tea. Would you like one?”

“All right,” he agrees. “It's important to keep hydrated during a marathon.”

She laughs again then smiles broadly for long moments, her gaze gentler than ever, her eyes sparkling with joy.

_Is there no end to how wonderful he can be?_

She's feeling oddly at peace right now.

And very much in love.

But she doesn't tell him that.

Instead she reaches down and softly kisses his lips.


	31. Chapter 31

“More?” she asks, nodding at his empty plate.

“No, thank you. You?”

“Maybe.” She gives him a mischievous smile. “I have a feeling I'll be needing my strength.”

He laughs.

“You certainly will with what I have in mind for rounds two and three.”

She blushes and ducks her head, getting up and carrying their plates to the counter. “In that case, I'd better have another _two_ slices,” she says.

He smiles at the return of some of her shyness and can't help feeling reassured, a fondness blanketing his heart. He gets up and crosses the kitchen to stand beside her while she waits for the toast to brown. “Let me help,” he murmurs, resting a gentle hand on her waist.

She smiles, turning to look at him, their gazes holding for long moments.

_I love you._

“You could make some more tea,” she suggests.

“All right.” He kisses her temple and moves over to fill the kettle, making them tea while she prepares another two slices of cheese on toast for herself.

They take it all through to the living room and sit on the sofa, enjoying the companionable silence that settles between them while she eats and they drink their second cup of tea. She's wrapped in her silk robe and he's wearing just his shirt, unbuttoned down the middle, and his black trunks.

When she's finished, he gently tugs on her hand, murmuring, “Come here,” and turning on the sofa so that she can lean against him.

“This is nice,” she confesses. “The only thing missing is a fire crackling in the background, perhaps a spot of music.”

He hums, pressing his lips against her hair. “Bit warm for a fire.”

“Maybe in the winter then.” She feels anxious suddenly to have revealed so much and is glad she can't see his face, nor he hers.

“I'd like that,” he replies huskily, almost overcome by emotion.

_I love you._

Silence settles between them once more as she reaches for his right hand and holds it in her left one, nestled against her stomach, her head pillowed on his shoulder.

Inspiration strikes when he spies the book he's given her lying on the coffee table. “Hand me the book,” he says. He takes it from her hand and allows her to settle against his side once more, opening it at random. He turns a few pages, looking for the right poem, wishing he had his reading glasses as he squints at the writing. He smiles with satisfaction when he finds it.

“Ready?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“I want to see you.” His voice is low, slow and seductive, she thinks, his lips moving close to her ear, breath coasting over her cheek. “Know your voice. Recognize you when you first come 'round the corner. Sense your scent when I come into a room you've just left. Know the lift of your heel, the glide of your foot. Become familiar with the way you purse your lips then let them part, just the slightest bit, when I lean into your space and kiss you.” He pauses and she can feel his physical response against her buttocks now, growing with every whispered word.

“Harry,” she says, turning her head to look into his dark, molten gaze.

She wants him.

He lifts himself on his left forearm, back against the sofa, left hand closing the book as his right cups her face. “I want to know the joy of how you whisper,” he continues, the words etched into his memory. “More.”

He kisses her.

And all is lost.

And found again.


	32. Chapter 32

“I have to go,” he whispers against her hair.

“Mmmm,” she hums, too sleepy, too exhausted to form words.

“I hate to go,” he adds moments later, still holding her in his arms, reluctant to leave the warmth of her bed, her body, her heart.

He doesn't know how he ever managed without her.

“When are you cooking me dinner?” she asks, perhaps sensing his need for reassurance.

How does she always know what to say to make him feel better?

_Same wavelength just at work, my arse!_

“Tonight?”

“Sounds lovely.” She smiles and reaches her hand up to cup the back of his head as she turns her head to kiss him. “What time do you want me?”

He smiles. “All the time.”

She chuckles then sighs in bliss. “I think you might have to wait a little while, Mr Pearce. You've worn me out.”

_I love you._

“In all honesty, the spirit is willing right now, but the flesh is another matter entirely. Tonight though...”

“Hmmm,” she hums, turning in his arms and nestling against his chest. “I'll bring something to sleep in then.”

“Please do.”

_Come on, Harry. Time to go. You need to get back home and change, see to Scarlet. No way can you turn up at work in shorts and a short-sleeved shirt._

“I have to go,” he murmurs, but she doesn't reply this time, and as he eases himself out of bed, he realises that she's sound asleep. “Sweet dreams, my Ruth,” he whispers and softly kisses her shoulder before pulling the covers over her, gathering his things and creeping out of the room, the cat slipping through the doorway before he can stop him and curling up at the foot of the bed, glaring at him.

He chuckles and leaves him there, pulling his clothes on and heading downstairs. Thank goodness he remembered to bring a jacket with him, he thinks as he steps out into the chilly morning air. The sun has risen, though it's still not even 5 am, and the hum of early morning traffic is already discernible in the distance.

He so wants to go back to bed right now, curl up around Ruth, make love to her again when they wake later, at some decent time in the morning.

_Snap out of it, Harry. You're going to have to wait and that’s that. Besides, the sooner you get your arse into work, the sooner you can see her again. Get a move on already._

So he starts the car and heads home, planning the menu for tonight as he drives and making a mental list of ingredients he needs to buy, things he needs to do around the house to get ready for Ruth and the prospect of spending another night with her wrapped around him.


	33. Chapter 33

She walks onto the Grid a little later than usual, having resorted to buying herself a cup of coffee on her way in, in the hope it'll wake her up. She doesn't actually like coffee, but she was _so_ not ready to get up when her alarm went off this morning and needs must as Harry is so fond of saying.

Everything aches today – mostly in a good way.

She smiles. What a night it had been! She's never before experienced anything like it.

_Who knew Harry could be so... insatiable? So attentive, generous, and passionate? So tender and sweet?_

“Morning, Ruth,” Fiona greets cheerfully, pulling her out of her daydreams.

“Morning,” she replies, hurrying to her desk so Fiona doesn't see her blush.

_Focus. Time to focus on work. Mooning over Harry will have to wait._

She resists the temptation to look into his office and turns around instead, greeting people as she goes off to make a cup of tea, running through her to-do-list in her head.

But it's not long before Harry demands her attention.

“Ruth,” he says into the phone when she picks up, “my office, please.”

“Of course,” she replies, glancing at him through the window, scared of what she might see.

What she sees is work Harry looking back at her, his expression inscrutable.

She's not sure if that should be reassuring or alarming, but she experiences a sudden, acute mixture of both. On the one hand, she's thrilled to see him treating her no different in front of their colleagues, yet on the other, she can't help but worry he's changed his mind. It's a little disconcerting to see his eyes looking at her without the extra warmth she's so accustomed to, without the fondness or hunger of last night.

She needn't have worried.

The moment she steps into his office, he's there, ostensibly to close the office door behind her, but really to brush her hand with his and look at her with a tenderness that quite takes her breath away.

“Good morning,” he murmurs.

“Hello,” she smiles, her eyes lost in his.

_I love you._

He takes a step back as a precaution, lest he succumb to the temptation to kiss her.

“Sorry, I'm late.”

“Traffic can be murder,” he replies, leading the way over to his desk.

She nods, taking her cue from him.

_This is work. This is not the time for other things._

Not that she wants those other things at work anyway. In fact, that is the last thing she wants. If the others were to ever find out...

“Ruth? Are you all right?”

“What?” She focuses on his face. “Oh, yes. Sorry. I'm fine. I was miles away. What was it you wanted?”

It's on the tip of his tongue to give a playful response, but he knows that that won't help them now. They need to remain professional at work or he can's see how they can make this work. And he _desperately_ wants to make this work.

“I wanted to touch base with you,” he confesses. “Make sure everything is all right after...” He leaves the sentence unfinished.

She smiles and nods. “Everything's fine, Harry... More than fine.”

“Good,” he says, pursing his lips to keep from grinning.

His phone rings, which is just as well, or they might have spent all day staring at each other.

He answers it and she slips out of his office, going back to her station to get started on her to-do-list, feeling much calmer than before, sure now that they're still on the same page and that they'll both at least _try_ to remain professional at work. She believes they can succeed if they can just manage to get through the first few days when everything is so new and wonderful. After that...

_One day at a time, Ruth. Don't over-think it. Just take it one day at a time._


	34. Chapter 34

_Christ, I'm knackered!_

She leans back in her seat and closes her eyes for a moment, resting them while she waits for the rest of the team to gather in the briefing room. She could have used another hour, or five, of sleep this morning.

“Everything all right, Ruth?” Adam asks as he steps into the room and takes a seat at the table.

Her eyes fly open and she sits up abruptly.

_Shit!_

She opens her mouth to reply and has to stifle a yawn instead. “God! Sorry.”

“Bit tired today then?” Adam grins.

“Exhausted,” she sighs, realizing the futility of denying it.

“Up all night, were you, Ruth?” Harry asks as he breezes through the room to the head of the table.

He's not looking at her, but she knows he's trying to bate her, can _almost_ hear the teasing in his voice. Not quite though. He's a good spook – the best really. And he's still managing to look quite chipper, even though it's lunch time already and he got less sleep than she did last night.

_Insufferable man! God, I love him._

“Something like that, yes,” she replies, nervously straightening the pile of papers in front of her.

She's deliberately not sitting next to him today. She doesn't think it wise to be too close lest either of them succumb to the temptation to play footsie under the table. It's hard enough to keep her eyes off him today, never mind her hands.

“Did you have a hot date?” Sam asks, all enthusiasm.

Harry lifts his eyebrows.

“It was my cat,” she stammers. “He's a house-cat and I couldn't find him, spent half the night looking for him, worried he'd got out of the house.” She's babbling, but she doesn't seem to be able to stop herself. “Anyway, to cut a long story short, I found him eventually, hiding under the covers of the bed in the spare room. God only knows why! It wasn't exactly cold last night.”

Malcolm smiles and nods, but Adam's smirk and Fiona's twinkling eyes make her realise that perhaps her story hasn't been that convincing.

Before anyone can comment, however, Harry steps in to rescue her. “I'm glad you found your cat, Ruth. Now then, everyone's here so, Adam, the floor is yours.”

When she's sure no one's looking, she shoots him a grateful look.

_I love you._

He smiles softly in return.


	35. Chapter 35

“Harry, have you turned your phone off? The Home Secretary's looking for you,” she says after stepping round the corner and spying him leaning against the railings. Somehow she knew he'd be on the roof. “He's on his way over.”

He turns and smiles at her and what a smile it is! Joyous is the word that jumps to mind. Unadulterated joy.

_God, I love you._

He's leaning sideways against the railings now, his hands clasped loosely together as he watches her.

“I've been meaning to talk to you,” he says, forcing her to take a few steps closer. She'd been just about to turn around and go back downstairs.

_Damn him! This isn't a good idea. If he kisses me..._

“Oh?”

“You can come closer, Ruth. I _still_ don't bite.” He's giving her a slightly mischievous smile now.

“Don't you?” she replies, before she can stop herself. “How disappointing.”

He laughs and straightens up, turning fully to face her.

“I'm a pussy cat, remember? Hiding under the covers of your spare bed.” His eyes are twinkling at her.

“More like a tiger, lying in wait, ready to pounce.”

He laughs again.

_Such a lovely, unique laugh. God, I'm in trouble._

“What did you want to talk to me about?”

“About tonight,” he says. “There's going to have to be a slight change of plans.”

“Oh?” She tries not to sound disappointed, but fails.

“It's the dessert,” he clarifies, looking pleased by her reaction. “I'm not going to have time to prepare the trifle I promised. It needs time to set. Would you mind terribly if I postpone that part of the meal?”

“No, not at all.” She smiles with relief.

“How about rhubarb fool or a crumble instead?”

“A fool sounds lovely, although...”

She's smiling up at him, their bodies having drawn closer almost without either of them realising.

“What?”

“Well, it just occurred to me that you could make the trifle anyway, and if it needs extra time to set, we could have it later in the evening. We're bound to need a snack after...”

She lifts her eyebrows and grins.

_God, I love you._

“I want to kiss you, Ruth. Badly.”

“I don't think you're capable of kissing badly, Harry.”

He chuckles.

_Christ, she's perfect._

“May I?”

“We're at work, Harry. This isn't a good idea.”

“No one can see us here.”

“You don't know that. Someone could walk through that door at any moment to tell you the Home Secretary's here. They might have telescopes trained on this roof, or drones flying above us.”

“They might,” he concedes.

They continue to watch each other. Longing.

“Right now, I don't care, Ruth.”

She sighs. “Neither do I.”

It's quick but so passionate, so full of promise and longing and... love?

“I'll see you at seven,” he says huskily before he turns away. At the door he stops and adds, “Don't be late.”

“I'll try but, surely you've noticed by now, Harry – I'm always late.”


	36. Chapter 36

He's taken her coat and placed her overnight bag on the stairs, handed her a glass of wine and shown her to the living room before popping back into the kitchen to check on the food.

“Harry, you can't possibly live here,” she protests when he returns.

“Why not?”

“It's spotless. No one can possibly be this tidy.”

“I have a housekeeper,” he confesses. “She comes round once a week to give it the once over. But to be honest, I'm not home much. I don't use a lot of things and I put them away when I'm done. Surely you've noticed how tidy I keep my desk?”

“I have. I cannot fathom how you do it.” She shakes her head in bafflement. “I don't set out of be messy, but I somehow always end up with several papers and what-not that don't have a home, and over time they accumulate and before I know it, they're having babies and I can't see my desk beneath all the crap.”

“Perhaps you should have enlisted like I did,” he chuckles, seeing her genuine bewilderment.

“Why _did_ you join the army?” she asks once they're sitting on the sofa together, a happy Scarlet at their feet, her head on Harry's knee, gazing up at him with adoring, puppy-dog eyes.

He's silent and thoughtful for some moments, reaching for her hand and holding it in his, resting them against his thigh, his other hand busy stroking his dog. “I was very impulsive as a young man,” he says eventually. “And reckless. I got up to all sorts of trouble. A bit like your friend, Maggie, but much, _much_ worse – I was almost thrown out of Oxford in my second year. When my mother died... I felt responsible. I felt that my... antics were what had caused her illness, that she'd died of worry... over me.” She squeezes his hand, unsure of what to say.

_Oh Harry. I know that kind of guilt only too well. Poor love._

He smiles. “I no longer believe that. I've since learnt that she always had a weak chest, something she took great pains to hide from us boys. Anyway, I knew I needed to reform my ways, so I figured the army was the best and most painful way to achieve that – something I thought I deserved at the time. I chose the Light Blue Dragoons because it was my grandfather's regiment. My mother's father. He fought in the Great War and was highly decorated for his bravery.”

“Did you know him?”

“My grandfather?”

“Yes.”

“Not really. He died when I was quite young. I don't have any memories of him to speak of, just a couple of photographs.”

“I'm sorry.” He smiles at her and she can't help thinking how alike they are in many ways. Both of them have lost loved ones and neither of them are very close to the family they have left.

_Perhaps that's why we're drawn to each other – kindred spirits._

“And MI-5?”

“I was head-hunted as I'm sure you know from my file, Ruth,” he gives her a pointed look, making her blush.

“I didn't read _everything_ , Harry.”

“No? More's the pity. Now I'll have to explain it all.” His eyes are twinkling at her, the mischief of his smile transforming his face and she can guess what he must have been like as a boy – charming, naughty and _very_ immature.

“I'm not sure I'd have liked you very much when you were young,” she confesses.

“I should hope not. You'd have been but a small child.”

“Oh, I don't know. I always used to fancy _men_ , Harry,” she confides. “Boys my age held no interest for me. I mean, I dated them when I was in my teens, to practice kissing, but once I left school... all my boyfriends were older than me. A _lot_ older than me.”

“So it doesn't bother you, the age difference between us?” He tries to hide how invested he is in her answer.

“Not really. Does it bother you?” She's curious about this. For her it makes little difference, but she's wondered how he would feel about it for some time, given that she's only a decade older than his daughter. Her parents had her quite late in life and her mother is technically old enough to have a child Harry's age. She turned seventy-two last February.

“No. Though I _do_ feel I have the better end of the bargain.”

She laughs. “I don't know, Harry. I get to tease you for being old. That's always much more fun than teasing someone for being young and beautiful.”

He pouts most adorably at that, earning him a smile and a soft kiss on the lips.

“You're very sexy when you pout like that,” she confesses. “Quite irresistible really.”

“I shall remember that,” he replies, kissing her again.

“Woof,” says Scarlet, feeling neglected.

Ruth laughs. “I don't think Scarlet approves of you kissing someone else.”

He smiles. “Let's have dinner. We can have more kisses when she's gone to bed... or _we_ have.”


	37. Chapter 37

“Thanks for being discrete at work, Harry,” she says as they work their way through the delicious meal he's prepared. He wasn't kidding when he said he could cook.

“You mean you wouldn't like me to call you kitten on the Grid?”

“You call me kitten at any time, Harry, and you're liable to lose an eye,” she says crossly, knife and fork clasped dangerously in her hands.

He laughs, lifting his hands, palms facing her, as he quickly replies, “Easy, Ruth. I'm only joking. I didn't mean anything by it. It's just I've heard Adam call Fiona that on more than one occasion.”

She narrows her eyes at him before relaxing her grip on her cutlery and taking another mouthful of food.

“Forgive me?” He looks worried and a little wary.

“I hate nicknames and pet names and any name that isn't Ruth. I like Ruth. It's simple – perhaps a little old-fashioned – but it's a lovely name with a lovely meaning, and it's _my_ name. I don't need another one.”

“I understand. I'm sorry.” Slowly, he reaches his hand across the table, letting it rest palm up on the surface as he looks at her beseechingly.

She sighs and takes his hand, allowing him to hold it and rub the back of it with his thumb. “I'm sorry. Boarding school,” she explains, feeling a little embarrassed now. “I wasn't one of the popular girls.”

He dips his head in acknowledgement. “I can't stand mashed potato,” he offers and is rewarded with a smile.

They finish their food in silence.

“It was delicious, Harry. Thank you,” she says as she leans back having washed the last mouthful down with some wine. “Is there no end to your talents?”

He smiles. “There must be or Jane wouldn't have divorced me.”

She thinks about that for a moment, then says, “Perhaps you're like a fine whisky – you grow better with age.”

She grins and he rolls his eyes. “If we've already moved onto the jokes about my age, I'm going to need a real drink.” And with that, he gets up and begins to clear the table.


	38. Chapter 38

“How is it going to work on the Grid though, Harry?”

They're in the living room again, both of them needing some time to digest their food. It was so good that they're really rather stuffed.

“We continue to do our job like always, Ruth. Nothing needs to change and it's nobody's business what we do in our own time.”

“Do you think they'll figure it out?” she asks worriedly.

“The team?”

She nods.

“Not if we're careful.” He hesitates, then asks, “Would it be so bad if they did?”

“Yes,” she admits. “You're my boss, Harry. It would change everything for me. You must see that.” He looks thoughtful and perhaps a little worried, so she hastens to add, “I _do_ want this. I just want to keep it between us for now. Keep it a secret.”

“Of course,” he smiles. “Isn't that what we're meant to be good at?”

His eyes twinkle at her and she realises he's using the same words she'd said to him just a few weeks ago.

_I love you._

“I know something else we're rather good at too,” she replies, moving closer. She takes the whisky glass from his hand and places it on the side table before straddling his legs, her hands threading through his hair to cradle his head as he tilts it back, looking up at her face, a small smile on his lips.

“What's that, Ruth?” he asks rather huskily, his hands gliding up her thighs and round her buttocks, stroking her slowly, sensually.

“Kissing.” She leans in and captures his lips with hers, softly at first, sampling the delights of his lips, then his mouth.

“Just kissing?” he asks when they come up for air.

“No,” she smiles, forehead resting against his to catch her breath, “but we have to go slow and you have to be gentle. I'm still rather full from dinner and a little sore from yesterday.”

“Hmmm,” he hums, his hands moving to gently cup her breasts. “I can do slow... and gentle. I'm sorry though... if I hurt you.”

“You didn't. I was fine last night. Better than fine actually.” She smiles, looking into his gorgeous eyes. “But before last night I hadn't had sex in two years, so...” She leans in to kiss him again.

“You should have said,” he murmurs. “I'd have...”

“What?” she leans back, lifting her eyebrows. “Insisted we only do it once?”

He grins. “You're right. Perhaps only three times instead of four? And if I hadn't woken you in the middle of the night, you might have been able to keep your eyes open during the briefing.”

“Cheeky sod!”

As punishment, she kisses him again. Hard.


	39. Chapter 39

“What are you thinking?” he asks softly, his thumb stroking the back of her hand as they lie facing each other in bed, hands loosely clasped together. She looks like she's miles away, a small frown lodged between her eyebrows.

“I'm wondering when I'm going to wake up,” she confesses, clear blue eyes fixing on his.

“I take it you're not talking about tomorrow morning?”

“No.”

He doesn't know what to say to that. Does she want reassurances, a declaration of love?

“I feel like we've been doing this for months,” she explains, “but it's been just two days. It worries me, Harry. How can things be so mixed up in my head? The legend we constructed for my friends... it's not real, yet I think, on some level, I believe it. Everything we have now is build on that and-”

“No,” he objects. “No, it's not, Ruth. What we have is built on months of working together and getting to know each other slowly. It's built on understanding, on appreciation and admiration – at least on my part – and on trust. Our job tests our mettle every day, puts us under extreme pressure, demands fortitude, bravery, sacrifice. We've seen the best and worst of each other. We know and understand each other, Ruth, better than anyone else ever could. We're drawn to be together because of that, not some legend we constructed on the spur of a moment.”

“But look at Tom,” she says in distress. “Look at what happened to him. I use to trust him too. I used to _like_ him but-”

“He broke. I know,” he sighs, rubbing his eyebrows with fingers and thumb.

“He shot you, Harry. I would never have believed he could do that, but he did.” She strokes the scar on his shoulder with her fingertips.

“He had no choice,” he murmurs, watching her. “I left him no choice. I didn't believe him.”

“Neither did I. No one did.” She moves towards him, pressing her body against his, planting a gentle kiss where her fingertips had been moments ago. “What if that happens to one of us? How can we survive in a world of such mistrust, Harry?” she asks softly.

“Christ, Ruth!” He exhales heavily, pulling her closer, attempting to draw comfort from her naked body against his. “Don't tell me this is over already. _Please_.”

“I don't want it to be over,” she whispers.

She pulls back to look at him, her eyes round with worry, fear – or is it hope?

“My first EERIE exercise,” she says, “I thought you were dying. I don't think I could go through that again now, not knowing if it's real or not, not being able to trust you. Something like that... I don't think we could survive-”

“Then we make a pact,” he says quickly, seeing the pain in her eyes and knowing she's right. Clearance levels are one thing, but not being able to trust each other to speak the truth about them or their safety? “A signal we can use to let each other know not to worry.”

She smiles. “Like what?”

“I don't know. A phrase. A touch. A hand gesture. Anything.”

He's doing it again. He's being wonderful. He's taking her and her concerns seriously.

_God, I love this man._

“I think you're wonderful,” she says.

He purses his lips thoughtfully, then says, “Good, but it'll probably give the game away. We need something neutral.”

She laughs.

“What?” He frowns, then smiles as he catches on. “Sorry. I mean, thank you. You're rather wonderful too.” He lifts his hand to cup her cheek and softly kisses the tip of her nose. “It's going to be all right, Ruth. I promise. We'll find a way. We'll make this work. Just please give us a chance before you consider throwing in the towel. We need to try for much longer than two days. All right? Be stubborn about it.”

“I can be stubborn.”

“I know you can. Stubborn is your middle name.” He gives her a cheeky grin.

“Ruth Stubborn Evershed? Hmmm,” she hums, rolling him onto his back and climbing on top of him. “It does have a certain ring to it.”

He chuckles, cupping her face and pulling her down for a kiss.

“My stubborn old mule,” he murmurs against her lips.

“Mule?!” she objects, pulling back in outrage.

“Figure of speech,” he explains and swiftly captures her lips with his.

They kiss hungrily until the need for oxygen overcomes them and they have to come up for air, panting.

“What does that make you then?” she teases, once they've caught their breath. “Ancient?”

“Ancient am I?” he growls, rolling her underneath him.

“Well, you _do_ have an impressive recovery time. I'll give you that. Perhaps not ancient exactly. Seasoned, experienced and-” She gasps as he bites her neck, making her moan. “I thought you said you don't bite,” she murmurs weakly.

“To which you replied, that's disappointing.” He lifts his head to give her a satisfied smirk. “Now I know why. You _like_ it.”

“Maybe,” she concedes, “but you're changing the subject. We haven't decided on the code word yet.”

“Later,” he murmurs, “now I want to make love to you again.”

“How about, tell me something uplifting?” she asks, struck by sudden inspiration. “That wouldn't give anything away, especially if you then threaten to have me shot.”

He chuckles. “All right. Now. Where were we?”

“You were- Oh fuck!” She whimpers, her nerves on fire as his teeth scrape her shoulder again.

“It was a rhetorical question, Ruth,” he murmurs, licking her reddened skin to sooth it.

“Shut up, Harry, and do it again.”

“Hmmmm,” he hums. “Which part?”

“All of it.”


	40. Chapter 40

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N And finally an M-rated scene that my muse insisted on writing. For those of you not that keen on reading that sort of thing, you can safely skip this chapter without missing out on any vital information pertinent to this story. For the rest of you, I hope it lives up to your expectations. Thanks again for all your support and encouragement so far. It is much appreciated as always. S.C.

“You're such a tease, Harry Pearce,” she pants, her back arching towards him.

“Am I?” he smiles against her ribs, his right thumb skimming along her stomach and making her shiver.

_So responsive. So beautiful. Magnificent!_

“Yes,” she gasps as he licks her skin. “Oh God!”

“You're not enjoying this?” he asks, lifting his head to look at her.

“You know I am. But that doesn't make you any less of a tease.”

“Hmmm,” he hums, his lips moving up the valley between her breasts.

_I will never get enough of her. Never._

She whimpers, grasping his head and attempting to direct it to her breast, making him chuckle.

“Harry!” There are tears of frustration and need ready to spill from her eyes now. Her body is on fire and he won't relent, won't give her what she so desperately craves.

“Yes, Ruth?”

“Unless you stop beating around the bush and get on with it,” she exclaims in frustration, “you're going to have to just sit back and watch!”

“Watch?”

He lifts his body above hers, eyes gleaming in the light from the lamp on the night stand, gaze locked on hers.

“Yes!”

“Hmmm,” he hums. “That's very tempting, Ruth. I'd like to watch.” He cups her left breast with his hand, his thumb circling, then grazing her nipple. “What do you do to pleasure yourself, hmm?” he murmurs, watching her arch her back and moan, her eyes drifting closed. “Do you cup your breasts? Knead them a little? Pinch your nipples? Do you stroke your thighs?” His hand reaches down, fingers trailing along the inside of her thigh. “Do you touch yourself like this?” His hand cups her mons now, making her whimper and push herself against him. “How do you massage this special place right here?” His thumb brushes her clit softly, making her cry out. “And how many fingers do you slip inside you?” He slips two fingers lower, stroking her entrance, spreading her wetness around.

“Oh God! _Please_!” she begs, lifting her upper body and grasping him around the neck, pulling him towards her, arms and legs wrapping around him. “I want you, Harry. I need you to fuck me. Hard!”

He growls, allowing her to pull him down, teeth nipping her earlobe as his hand reaches between them, massaging himself a few times until he's hard enough to enter. He's not young, but she's right – he still has a pretty decent recovery time.

Especially with her.

It's been a revelation – how much sex he can manage with a woman he loves and desires this much. He might not be able to come again quite yet, but he's convinced he can pleasure her all night if she wants him to.

He lifts her hips and drives home, fast and hard. She gasps and he groans at the overpowering sensation, his mouth closing round one nipple as he lets himself go, instinct and lust taking over, propelling him onwards, her cries, the scent and feel of her intoxicating, pushing him beyond his limits.

He feels her tremble, hears her whimper as she tenses below him, her nails scraping his shoulders, heels driving into his buttocks and then she breaks with a high pitched cry of ecstasy, her walls contracting around him, pulling, sucking at him, but he continues unrelenting, lifting his head to watch her come a second and third time before he slows and stops, rolling them onto their sides as he covers them both, switches off the light and gathers her close.

He smiles, pressing his lips against her forehead as she sighs in bliss.

“Dear God, Harry,” she breathes. “When can we do that again?”

He chuckles. “In the morning. Now sleep, my Ruth.” He kisses her nose. “Sweet dreams.”


	41. Chapter 41

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N We're skipping ahead a little in time here to the beginning of 3.10, the 2nd of July 2005 according to Harry's diary.

She watches him squinting down at the book, overcome by a deep feeling of fondness and love.

“Harry?”

“Mmmm?” he hums, not looking up.

“Why don't you use your reading glasses?”

That makes him look up sharply.

“I know you have some. I've seen you wearing them on the Grid sometimes, late a night, when you think no one's looking.”

He purses his lips, dropping his gaze back to the book.

“Why, Harry! If I didn't know any better, I'd say you were rather shy about wearing them. Or is it embarrassment over needing them in the first place?” Her voice is light and playful.

He sighs, rubbing his eyebrows with fingers and thumb, a sure sign of mounting stress.

_God, he's adorable! Who knew Harry Pearce could feel embarrassed about anything?!_

“I promise not to tease,” she murmurs, leaning closer. “I actually think you look rather sexy in glasses... from the glimpses I've had so far.”

Now he looks at her again, lifting his eyebrows with interest – or is it scepticism?

“What?” She smiles at him. “It's true. They make you look... more intellectual. Like a professor.”

And now he grins. “A professor, eh? Is this one of your secret fantasies, Ruth? Shagging your professor?”

She blushes, pulling back a little and dropping her gaze to her hands.

He chuckles, setting the book aside and wrapping his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close and pressing his lips against her forehead. “I'm sorry,” he murmurs. “That wasn't very gentlemanly of me.”

She turns her face to bury it in his shoulder, inhaling his wonderful Harry scent as they sit in silence for a few moments.

“I did once,” she confesses eventually.

“Did what?”

“Shagged my professor.”

_Bloody hell!_

She can tell she's shocked him and part of her feels rather pleased. “It's part of the reason it matters so much to me that the others don't find out about us. It wasn't pleasant when my classmates got wind of our brief affair.”

Gently he threads his fingers through her hair, massaging the back of her head and neck, draining away the tension he finds there. “I'm sorry, Ruth.”

“It's fine.” She sighs in bliss.

_God, he has magical hands._

“He was quite young for a professor. Didn't even wear glasses. But it didn't last long. There's only so much Greek philosophy someone can bring up in bed before you start wondering if your role is just to be a sounding board for his ideas.”

He chuckles. “I hope you don't feel I do that.”

“Discuss Greek philosophy? Not at all.”

“You know what I mean, Ruth.”

“No... You're wonderful, Harry. And you're a fantastic lover. Professor Kelly didn't have a clue.”

He smiles and presses his lips against her forehead.

“I'm relieved to hear that.”

They sit in silence for some moments before she asks, “What was all that about the chocolates today, Harry? Why do you make out that you haven't got a clue when I know for a fact that you put so much thought into the gifts you buy?”

He clears his throat and she can feel him tense up a little. Curious, she pulls back to look at him.

With Ruth-like precision, she has found yet another little chink in his armour, a way to peel away another layer of protection he's built around himself. But after her confession, he feels it's only fair to let her in a little more, trust her with another small piece of himself.

“It's part of the persona I adopt on the Grid,” he says.

“Why? How does that help? What does it matter if Adam thinks you hopeless in the gift department?”

He purses his lips. “As a field agent, and even a section chief, I had a reputation of being... somewhat of a ladies' man.”

“Somewhat?” she teases, a mischievous smile lighting up her face.

And just like that, she feels him relax.

_Christ, she's perfect._

“Yes. It caused quite a bit of trouble for me from time to time and, when I was offered my current position, it was one of my then Section Head's main concerns. He pressed upon me the importance of reforming my ways, so that is what I did. I adopted a new persona – someone who didn't flirt and hadn't a clue about seducing women.”

“You flirted with _me_ ,” she objects.

“You were – _are_ – my Achilles' heel, Ruth. Despite years of practice, I couldn't seem to resist you.” He smiles. “Even so, it's been a struggle to break free of the habits of more than a decade. My Grid persona has been with me so long that I've often found myself becoming trapped in it, bringing it home. It wasn't until I went out with you and your mad friends that I really remembered what I was missing.”

“Trapped in the bat-suit,” she says fondly, lifting her hand to stroke his cheek.

“It has to be done, Ruth, in order to survive in our world,” he replies earnestly. “You have to hide the soft, vulnerable parts of yourself, the bits that don't fit the part you're expected to play. There's no room for weakness.”

“It's not weakness, Harry, to feel compassion and love. Those are your greatest strengths.”

“Not in the eyes of the DG, the Home Secretary, Oliver Mace, Juliet Shaw.”

“They are in mine.”

“But you are a remarkable and very wise woman, Ruth.”

He kisses her softly and they spend some time lost in the kiss, lovingly exploring each other's lips and mouths, fingers brushing softly against skin.

“I want to see you in your reading glasses,” she whispers somewhat huskily when they break apart for air.

He smiles. “They're in the inside pocket of my jacket.”

She springs up with such vivacity that he can't help feeling somewhat amused and infinitely fond of her in that moment.

She comes back and holds out the case for him to take, sitting down beside him, her eyes alight with eager expectation.

He laughs. He can't help it.

“What?”

“Your face. You look as excited as a puppy with a new toy.”

She blushes and looks away before returning her eyes to his.

“Go on then,” she prompts.

“All right.” He opens the case and pulls them out, lifting his eyes to hers and adding, “Remember you promised not to laugh or make any jokes about my age.”

“I remember.” She agrees eagerly. “I can't promise not to kiss you senseless though.”

He laughs again, feeling his whole attitude towards his glasses shift. He's always thought of them as a necessary evil, an uncomfortable reminder of his age, but he's now beginning to feel rather pleased and grateful that he has them.

_How does she manage to make me feel so much better about everything?_

He slips them on and looks up at her, watching her face closely for her reaction. She considers him thoughtfully for long moments, but he doesn't miss the darkening of her eyes and the flush of her cheeks, both sure signs that she's rather turned on.

_Who knew a pair of glasses could have so much power?_

“Well?” he asks.

“You look good. Very distinguished.” She's trying to sound nonchalant and hide how much the glasses are affecting her, how much they're turning her on.

_It's absurd. They're just a pair of glasses!_

Then, as if to provoke, he tilts his head down and gives her a long, smouldering look over the top of his spectacles, murmuring huskily, “Good, Ruth? Distinguished? What happened to sexy?”

“God, Harry,” he breathes. “You're so far off the sexy scale that you've entered the divine, sex God race and are winning by more than a hundred leagues.” Then she throws herself at him, forcing him back with her weight until he's practically horizontal on the settee, her lips finding his, hands in his hair as he drops the case and wraps his arms around her, drawing her closer, responding with an enthusiasm that has her insides in spasm with the need of him.

They're not going to make it upstairs, she thinks fleetingly. She's going to have him right here, on her sofa... with his glasses on.


	42. Chapter 42

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N End of 3.10 now. I've borrowed a little dialogue from Spooks here to fit this into canon.

“I have to leave you for a moment, Ruth,” he says, his voice gruff, face impassive as he watches her stroking Danny's face, tears gathering in her eyes.

All he wants to do is wrap her in his arms, kiss her, cradle her close.

It's been two weeks, two weeks of bliss, and now this.

She nods, clear blue eyes gazing up at him, overflowing with sorrow and understanding.

“I'm staying here with Danny.”

He turns, unable to bear it, his eyes gliding over Adam holding Fiona, a spark of jealousy igniting in his heart before he squashes it.

_At least we were in time for Fiona._

For a moment, he regrets that he hadn't been the one to pull the trigger to avenge Danny.

She doesn't watch him go, keeping her attention on Danny, so cold beneath her fingertips.

It is too much.

All of it.

All she can focus on is her friend, lying dead before her, and her lover, walking away. She wants to reach out of him, grasp his arm, pull him back and step into his embrace, but she knows she can't.

This is not the time to grieve.

Not yet.

So she keeps stroking Danny's face, whispering, “Harry's had to leave us for a moment. I'm still here with you, Danny. I'll stay right here with you.” She's not sure who she's trying to reassure – Danny or herself.

He talks to the police, answering their questions and imparting all pertinent information, his eyes mostly on Ruth. He's done this before, too many times, but this is the first time for her, the first real loss, and she's handling it with so much grace, so much courage and strength, that he feels humbled and awed by her.

_Oh Ruth. I'm so sorry. I've failed you. I've failed Danny. I wish I could take it back, take all this pain away. I wish I could protect you. I love you so._

The moment he is free, his heart and feet carry him back to her side.

She's crying in earnest now, deep sobs escaping her throat, her tears dripping down her nose onto Danny's face.

“Ruth,” he murmurs softly, reaching a gloved hand out to touch her arm.

“Oh Danny,” she whispers, new tears sliding down her cheeks.

He can see the paramedics hovering in the background, waiting to take Danny's body away.

“Come away now, Ruth,” he says softly, his hand moving round to her waist, attempting to coax her towards him.

“I don't want to leave him, Harry.” Her sorrowful, blue eyes beseech him.

“I know, Ruth,” he responds, “but there's nothing more we can do for Danny now. Come with me. Let these people do their jobs.”

He tries to guide her away again, but she resists, breaking free of his grasp and leaning down to kiss Danny's face. “Goodbye, Danny,” she whispers brokenly.

Then she turns and walks straight into Harry, grasping his coat with her hands and burying her face in his chest.

He holds her for long minutes while she weeps, none of the emotions he's experiencing showing on his face. Over her head, he sees Zaf take charge of the last part of the clean up of this operation and experiences a sudden burst of gratitude. Adam, Fiona and Ruth are in no state to do that, and if it weren't for Zaf, he would have to forgo this momentary respite, this moment of comfort and love, don his Section Head cap and spring into action.

As it is, he savours the feeling of holding Ruth a moment more before he begins to lead her towards the waiting car.

“I'll be right back,” he says softly, once he's helped her into the back seat.

She watches him walk over to Zaf, giving him his instructions before returning to the car and slipping in beside her.

“Thames House, Sir?” the driver asks.

“We're taking Ms Evershed home first,” he replies. “Then you can drive me back to the Grid.”

“Very good, Sir.”

A sob escapes her, so he does the only thing he can think of – he pulls her gently into his arms, holding her while she weeps against his shoulder, trusting that the circumstances warrant this kind of attention from a boss to his employee.


	43. Chapter 43

“I'll walk you inside,” he says when they all get out of the car at her place.

She just nods, turning towards her home. “Give me five minutes,” he adds to his driver before following her up the steps to her front door.

Once inside, she falls into his arms, clinging to him, kissing him with all the anguish and desolation she feels, desperately trying to fill the void inside her.

He returns her embrace and kisses with equal ardour, wishing he had the time to stay with her, comfort her as his heart and soul desire.

But there is no time, no peace for the likes of him.

Gently he pulls out of the kiss. “I'm sorry, Ruth. I have to go.”

She nods, letting her palms slide from his hair down his chest, steadying herself.

“I know,” she says, lifting her gaze to his.

They stand, lost in each other's eyes, for what feels like an eternity.

“I love you,” she whispers, watching as his eyes change, softening, lighting up with a joy that transcends the sorrow and the pain. “I need you to know that in case...” She doesn't finish the thought. She doesn't need to.

“I love you too, Ruth.” His voice is gruff and his kiss infinitely tender.

“Take my keys,” she says quickly, reaching into her pocket for them and placing them in his hand, closing it around them. “Come here tonight when you're done?”

“All right.” He smiles, slipping the keys into his pocket, pulling off his glove, and cupping her cheek with his hand. “Take care of yourself, Ruth,” he adds. “Eat something. Make some tea. Run yourself a bath. All right?” She nods. “I hope I won't be too long.”

Then he kisses her and slips out of her house before the temptation gets too much and he can no longer resist his heart's desire. In the car and throughout the rest of the day, her declaration of love soothes him and gives him hope and the strength to deal with all the fallout from this darkest, most terrible of days.


	44. Chapter 44

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Another short chapter and an M-rated one at that. Thanks for reading and particular thanks to those of you who continue to take the time to review.

It's late, long past midnight, and he feels utterly drained, completely exhausted.

He slips into her house, doing his best to be quiet so he doesn't wake her. But he needn't have worried. She's there, appearing at the foot of the stairs like a vision of heaven after the hell he has endured all day.

“I've been waiting for you,” she says, moving towards him. “I'm glad you're home,” she adds, slipping her arms over his shoulders.

He kisses her softly at first, then more deeply, until he's kissing her like his life depends upon it.

“I love you,” he murmurs, drawing her closer, wanting to slip into her skin, become one with her – this woman who is all that is good, all that is kind, all that is wonderful in his world.

Her heart skips several beats to hear him say that again. It's only the second time and it feels glorious to have finally reached this point together.

_Thank you, Danny. Oh Danny._

She clings to him tighter, wanting to merge with him – this man who is all that is strong, all that is just, all that is honourable in her world.

They kiss, again and again, harder, more desperately, hands pulling each other closer, then fighting with buttons and buckles and zips, pulling, pushing, tugging at clothes. She feels the wall behind her as they stagger to the stairs, feels his hands lift her nightdress over her head, his naked chest pressing against hers, teeth scraping her neck as he lifts her left leg up, hooking it around his hip, fingers caressing her folds, spreading her wetness, his cock eager, poised to enter.

“Harry,” she moans as he slips inside her and she rises to meet him.

He fills her with his flesh, with his love, with his soul, lips finding hers once more, kissing, sucking, devouring her. It's frantic, raw, desperate, and as he empties himself inside her, he breaks, a great sob rising from his chest, his body beginning to shake as he crumbles in her arms.

_Oh Harry._

She holds him as best she can, hands stroking his back and hair, lips pressing kisses against his shoulder, his neck, his jaw, overcome by the trust he's showing her in falling apart in her arms.

He cries for a long time, longer than she expects him to, and she wonders if he's grieving for more than just Danny, wonders if there are others he's remembering, people he's lost that he hasn't let himself cry for, perhaps because he was alone.

“I'm sorry,” he apologises, pulling back and wiping tears from his face with the back of his hand.

“Don't be. You were there for me earlier. Let me be here for you now.” She smiles up at him, cupping his cheeks and softly kissing his lips. He nods, leaning forward to rest his forehead against hers, closing his eyes and placing his hands on her hips, drawing her against him as he takes deep, steadying breaths.

“Thank you,” he says.

“I love you,” she replies.


	45. Chapter 45

 

“Cup of tea?” she asks gently. “Something to eat?”

“No thanks,” he replies, pulling back to look at her. “Perhaps a hot shower and then bed?”

“Okay,” she agrees and begins gathering up the clothes at their feet. He helps her, taking most of the clothes from her arms and gripping them against his right hip so he can hold her hand as they make their way upstairs.

They shower together and then slip into bed, Ruth wearing her nightdress again and he naked.

“Come here,” he murmurs, needing to have her close tonight. He's tired, but not quite ready to sleep. Somehow he needs the reassurance of holding her in his arms, needs to maintain the deep connection they forged downstairs.

It surprises him.

Normally, he'd be scrambling to distance himself well before this point, re-erect his walls, repair the fortress that surrounds his weakest, most vulnerable parts, but somehow, tonight – with Ruth – things are different. He wants to stay close, inside the bubble of love, trust and understanding they have carved out of their loss. It is a precious place, one he has never created before with anyone else.

“I love you.” He presses his lips against hers, kissing her softly, tenderly, his thumb caressing her cheek. She sighs into his mouth, deepening their kiss and threading her fingers through his hair, unconsciously pressing her body against his, and that's when he realises that he most probably hasn't satisfied her needs tonight.

“I'm sorry,” he murmurs. “I've been so selfish tonight.”

She makes an exasperated sound, surprising him. “For goodness sake, Harry!” she exclaims, sounding and looking rather cross. “You're going to kill yourself with all that guilt you carry around one day. Enough! I don't want to be another source of guilt. I love you. I _want_ to make you happy!”

He smiles, a lovely, warm smile that reaches all the way to his eyes. “I'll try to remember that.”

“Good. Now shut up and kiss me.”

“I have a better idea,” he replies, pressing a quick kiss to her lips.

He knows he doesn't have another erection in him tonight, so he shimmies down the bed, lifting her nightdress, parting her legs gently and burying his face between them. This isn't something he has always enjoyed, but with Ruth he finds he loves it – her taste, her scent, the way it alters, is different everyday, learning to read her body, find what she likes, the rhythm she needs, the pressure. It's ever changing and she's so responsive to him that it gives him such a boost to do this for her, such pleasure to watch her come, over and over again.

Tonight, she doesn't want more though. Tonight, she calls him to her side, gently tugging on his ears after her first climax. He wants to give her more, to make up for leaving her behind earlier, but he swallows his own desire and follows her lead – it is her body after all, her need he wants to satisfy. He wipes his mouth on the duvet and works his way up until he's leaning over her, weight on his forearms, smiling gently into her eyes.

“Thank you,” she murmurs and kisses his lips.

He hums and kisses her softly in return before pulling back to whisper, “Move in with me, Ruth.”

Her eyes open wide in shock.

_Bloody hell! Where did that come from?_

“Move... move _in_ with you?” she stammers.

“Or let me live here. I don't much care. I just want to be with you.”

“Harry... it's only been two weeks. I know today was... awful, but we can't just... We need to think about this.”

“I _have_ thought about it,” he replies earnestly. “I'm not being impulsive. I've thought about little else every night we've spent apart over the last ten days. And it's been more than half of those, Ruth. I know it's early days yet – I understand that. But I also know that waiting another month or two won't change my mind. I have such little free time. I want to spend most of it with you, to hold you and love you everyday, not just one or two times a week _if_ we're lucky.”

“God, Harry!” She exhales. “Just when I get used to this, start to feel comfortable and at ease, especially at work, you do something like _this_! It's almost as if you _want_ to keep me off balance!”

“It's not that, Ruth. I promise. I'm not trying to manipulate or control you.” He sighs and rolls off her, folding his right arm under the pillow as he lies beside her, facing her. “I'm sorry,” he repents, eyes soft, almost pleading. She doesn't look at him, not even to glare at him for apologising again, and he feels his heart sink.

He should have kept his mouth shut, curled up around Ruth and gone to sleep as any sane person would have done at stupid o'clock in the morning after the day they've both had. Now the bubble has burst and it's all his bloody fault!

_Idiot!_

She takes a few breaths to control the roller-coaster of emotions his words have evoked, then she turns to face him, studying his face, trying to understand.

_What in God's name are you thinking, Harry?_

It's not the first time he's confused her with his words and actions, and it's unlikely to be the last. She doesn't think she'll ever understand how his thought process works, it's so different from her own, but she does hope that perhaps she can get a handle on his emotions.

_Is it Danny? It must be. He must be reacting to Danny's loss by wanting me closer where he believes he can guard against losing me too, control all the variables, keep me safe at night._

She can understand that. She still remembers the panic and fear she'd experienced when Tom had shot him. It had been early days in her Harry crush then, but she'd felt like she couldn't breathe, like someone had taken the bottom out of her world. How much more would she feel now?

_Don't think like that, Ruth. Nothing's going to happen to Harry. Everything's going to be all right._

She has to believe that, or she'll run mad with worry and fear.

“I love you,” she says eventually. “I _do_. But I can't... This is too much right now, Harry. I'm sorry.”

“ _I'm_ the one who's sorry, Ruth. I shouldn't have sprung that on you like that. Not tonight, of all nights.” Tentatively, he moves closer and is relieved when she shuffles towards him and cuddles into his embrace.

“It's okay,” she murmurs against his chest. “I understand. We see so much... It's hard to think that next time it might be you or me.” He squeezes her against him.

_Heaven forbid! What would I ever do without you, Ruth?_

“But I can't just jump without looking, Harry. I'm sorry. I can't be impulsive like that. It's not who I am. I need time – time to make sure this can work, time to make certain it can last, time to adjust to there being an us, not just a separate me and you. I'm not ready to-”

“I know, Ruth,” he interrupts, sensing her rising agitation. He presses his lips against her forehead. “I know you need to think about it. It's a good thing. I value your ability to analyse things before you make a decision and I know I tend to rush into things without taking that time. I'm working on that. I've been working on it for decades.” He sighs, rubbing his forehead, then leans back a little to look at her. “Sometimes I'm still as impatient at my twenty-year-old self, I'm afraid... Especially when it comes to something I want _this_ badly, Ruth. Forgive me?”

She smiles at him, her eyes softening, her gaze gentle and full of love. “There's nothing to forgive, Harry. I want it too. I just need-”

“To be certain of it,” he finishes for her. “I understand.”

“It doesn't mean I want it any less than you do.”

She moves closer, tucking her head under his chin as she wraps her right arm around him.

“Take your time, Ruth, just... don't take _too_ long,” he whispers.

He feels her smile and press her lips softly against his naked chest. “I won't,” she promises. “I'll give you a key to my front door in the morning.”

That makes him smile. “Thank you,” he says and kisses the top of her head.

She burrows further into him and pulls the covers further up and closer around them.

“I'm going to miss him,” she whispers after a few moments of silence, tears gathering in her eyes again.

“I know, Ruth. I know. We all are,” he replies.


	46. Chapter 46

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Skipping ahead a little in time again to mid July.

“Hi,” she says into the phone.

“Meet me on the roof,” he replies.

“Now?”

“As soon as you can.”

“Okay.” His voice is clipped and urgent, so she doesn't delay, getting up and locking her computer before she carries her mug to the kitchen to avoid arousing anyone's suspicions and surreptitiously makes her way to the stairs. No one seems to notice or question her slipping out of the Grid for a breath of fresh air. It's difficult for all of them without any windows and they all do it from time to time, especially the desk spooks though thankfully only she and Harry tend to favour the roof.

“What is it?” she asks without preamble as she steps through the door and walks briskly to his side.

He smiles, turning to face her and asks softly, “Have you forgotten what day it is, Ruth?”

“Er... It's Monday.”

He lifts his eyebrows.

“The... er... 19th of July, so... Oh!” She _ha_ _s_ forgotten, but apparently he hasn't.

_God, he's amazing!_

He smiles, seeing that she's remembered. “Happy one-month anniversary, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, reaching into his pocket and bringing out a small gift-box, wrapped in gold foil.

“Oh Harry!” she exclaims. “That's so sweet. Thank you.”

“Open it first. You might not like what's inside.”

She gives him a look that suggests he's mad to even consider the possibility. “You forget that I know your secret, Harry Pearce, your talent in the gift department.”

He chuckles.

Slowly, she begins to unwrap the present, peeling away the wrapping paper to discover a square, smallish, flat box inside, that's clearly from a jewellery shop. “Harry-” she begins, her heart racing.

“Open it,” he insists, taking the wrapping paper and squeezing it into a ball, slipping it back into his pocket.

So she turns her attention to the box, lifting the lid to find a beautiful, charm bracelet that is virtually identical in style to her favourite necklace – the necklace that had gone missing at his home one morning a couple of weeks ago and which he'd taken two days to find and return to her.

_Sneaky spook! God, he's wonderful._

“Oh Harry, it's beautiful.” She smiles in delight.

“Do you really like it?” He's a little worried that he's presumed too much.

“I love it,” she says honestly, watching him smile in satisfaction. “Help me put it on?”

“Of course.” He takes it from its box, unfastens the clasp and refastens it around her left wrist, taking the opportunity to grasp her hand gently and press a soft kiss against the inside of her wrist. “Perfect,” he smiles.

“I love you,” she replies, reaching up to press a soft, quick kiss against his lips. “Thank you.”

“My pleasure, Ruth. Dinner tonight?”

Her smile broadens. “I'd like that.”

“I've booked a table. It's a place I think you'll like.”

“Sounds lovely.”

“I'll pick you up at seven then.”

“I'll be ready.”

“I doubt that,” he teases.

“Hey! Watch it! I'm not that bad. I'm getting better, aren't I?”

“Maybe,” he concedes. “Or maybe, I've just got used to it and don't notice any more. I love you and I'd wait an eternity for you if I had to, Ruth.”

She smiles broadly and kisses him again in spite of the fact that they're at work and they really shouldn't be doing this. “I think I might be the luckiest woman alive,” she whispers against his lips before succumbing to the temptation to kiss him again.

“I'm going to have to leave early to get you something,” she confesses when they eventually break apart, taking a step back from each other lest they give into the temptation again. She's toying with the box in her hands, feeling rather bad that she's forgotten something that's clearly so important to him. She's always been terrible with this kind of thing in relationships. She remembers birthdays and Christmases, but anniversaries tend to slip her busy mind.

He takes the box from her hands and slips it into his pocket before he grasps her hands in his, squeezing gently. “Don't worry about me, Ruth.” His voice is deep and husky. “This is reward enough. Tonight will be even better. _You_ are all I need.”

She moans and flings herself at him again, kissing him hard and fast before she pulls away and starts walking towards the door. “I have to go, Harry, or next thing I know we'll be shagging against the wall. You're far too seductive to be allowed.”

She hears him chuckle then murmur, just loud enough for her to hear, “If you think that's seductive, Ruth, wait until tonight.”


	47. Chapter 47

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N Moving forward again about a month to the end of 4.2, August 30th according to Harry's diary. Nice long chapter this time and M rated initially. Hope you enjoy and, of course, I would love a review. Cheers, S.C.

It's close to six when he finally makes it home. He ate a sandwich in the car, so after taking off his jacket and shoes, he greets Scarlet and goes straight upstairs.

“I'm sorry, old girl,” he apologises when his little dog objects. “I need to sleep. I'll take you for a long walk later.”

He visits the bathroom and then strips and crawls into bed, spooning himself around Ruth who sighs in her sleep and mumbles something incomprehensible. He smiles, kisses her shoulder and closes his eyes, grateful beyond words that they've both survived today and effortlessly drifting off to sleep.

He wakes to the feel of her hands and lips touching him, kissing and licking his skin. He groans in pleasure, feeling her moving lower, his body stirring, hardening with desire. He loves this and she doesn't do it nearly as often as he'd like, though perhaps that's his own fault – he nearly always initiates and takes charge of their love making.

_Oh God, yes! Christ, that's good!_

He begins to pant, nearing the edge, but she suddenly stops, making him growl her name urgently. “Don't stop. Please!” He's aware that he sounds needy and desperate, but he can't seem to help himself.

He hears her laugh softly, trailing kisses up his body to his left nipple, laving it with her tongue and eliciting a groan from him that only gets deeper when she straddles his hips and sinks down on him, burying him inside her.

“Ruth,” he gasps, his hands moving to cup her bum, squeezing her flesh as he fights for control.

_Christ almighty!_

She seems to sense his struggle because she stills, lifting her head to watch his face that is tilted up towards the head-board, his eyes screwed shut, lips pursed together, breath loud and heavy as he breathes rapidly in and out through his nose, trying to calm himself.

_Oh Harry, you wonderful man._

He's such a considerate lover. Now that he knows what she wants, he'll do everything he can to last for her, and it warms her heart, a fierce kind of love overwhelming her.

“I love you,” she murmurs, kissing his chin, scraping her tongue against his stubble. She feels him begin to relax a little, tilting his head down to capture her lips, kissing her softly, lazily, his hands stroking her back, her buttocks and thighs.

“What a way to wake up,” he murmurs, kissing her some more, infusing more passion in his kisses and caresses, and she knows he's back in control and giving her permission to continue.

She smiles, sitting up and looking down on him, her gaze full of appreciation, hunger and love. Slowly, she begins to move, lifting up and sliding back down on him, gaze locked with his. He watches transfixed as she moves, her eyes closing and an expression of pure bliss spreading across her face. She's never done this before, taken control like this, chosen this position, and he can't get over how beautiful she is, how magnificent.

She reaches for his hand, placing it between her legs. “Touch me,” she says, eyes opening to look at him, a new confidence radiating from their deep, ocean blue depths. He doesn't hesitate, his thumb brushing her clit and making her moan, her eyes closing again as she increases the tempo until she's riding him in earnest.

“You're breathtaking,” he growls, tilting his pelvis to meet her as she nears the edge, her movements becoming less fluid now, her breath coming in pants and low moans of exquisite pleasure. When she breaks, she gasps and groans her release, pulling him with her as he grasps her hips and lifts his pelvis up hard, spilling inside her.

She collapses on him, lips softly kissing his neck as she covers him like a blanket, her body loose and limp.

They doze for a bit, though not for long, her weight making his breathing somewhat difficult until he has to roll her off him, turning them onto their sides and pulling his head back to look at her.

She smiles, a contented, sated look in her eyes, her whole demeanour one of blissful relaxation.

“I loved that,” he confesses, reaching a hand up to stroke a few strands of her hair out of her face.

“I know. That's why you keep me around. I'm just a sex slave really.”

He chuckles. “Analyst extraordinaire by day, sex slave by night?”

“Well, my brain does need a rest from time to time,” she jokes.

“Ah yes. I'm not the only one with an alter ego then.”

“Whatever you say, Bruce.”

He wrinkles his nose in distaste, pouting.

“What?” She frowns.

“You're not the only one who dislikes nicknames, Ruth.”

“School?” she asks, her eyes full of understanding.

“No.” He thinks for a moment, then adds, “Perhaps spending so much of my time being someone else.”

“The legend thing.”

“Yes. It's thrilling and exhilarating, but I find that, with _you_ , I prefer to be myself.”

_Oh Harry._

“I think that's the most beautiful thing anyone has ever said to me,” she whispers.

He smiles.

“I love you, I desire you, I trust you, and you feel the same way in spite of knowing exactly what I'm capable of, what I've done for Queen and country. I have never had that before, Ruth. At least one of those things has always been missing.” His eyes are warm and gentle as he looks at her, full of love and gratitude.

She smiles, reassured by his words. There'd been something earlier today – or is it yesterday now? – when she'd seen him on the Grid. Even amongst the chaos of looking for the next bomb and trying to diffuse it, she'd picked up on something in the way he'd looked at her, on the fact that he'd maintained his distance and she'd been stuck babysitting the Professor all day, even once they'd made it back to the Grid. She'd felt useless and frustrated and had began to wonder if he'd been keeping her in the background for a specific reason. She'd thought perhaps to protect her from the mole, but then they'd found him and nothing had changed, so that theory had flown out the window.

“What time is it?” he asks, turning to look at the clock.

“Close to four,” she answers.

“Shall we get up? I promised Scarlet a long walk this morning.”

She smiles.

_God, he's adorable. He even tries to keep his promises to his dog._

“All right,” she agrees. “I like the idea of a walk before breakfast.”

He's returned his gaze to hers, and at her words, there is that something in his eyes again.

_I didn't imagine it._

“What is it, Harry? Why are you looking at me like that?”

“Like what?”

“I don't know. Speculatively. Like something's on your mind. You were doing it all day yesterday.”

He sighs.

“Harry?”

“Let's have breakfast first. There's something you should know, but I'll not discuss it in our bed.”

Our bed, she thinks. It's not their bed yet. They're not living together, but it warms her heart to hear him say it, especially after that ominous pronouncement.

Soon they're sitting at the kitchen table, eating baked beans on toast, and drinking their coffee and tea respectively.

“What's this about, Harry?” she asks, hating the suspense.

_Just say it. Adam knows now and Juliet is making very free with the information. You don't want her to hear it from someone else._

“You remember that yesterday, or the day before rather, we were joined by Juliet Shaw who helped with the interrogation of Owen Foster among other things?”

“Yes,” she nods. “You supported her appointment as National Security Coordinator, right?”

“Reluctantly, yes.” He sighs, rubbing his face with his hand and looking down at his plate. “Juliet and I go way back.”

“Oh.” Her voice sounds small and she drops her gaze to her plate. She'd known who Juliet was from Harry's file. There's a reprimand there about the affair they'd had in 1981. Rather naively though, she'd assumed it was over. It figures. Juliet is still a beautiful woman with so much more elegance, grace, power and sex appeal than she will ever have. And now she's back in England-

“There's nothing there, Ruth,” he says earnestly, suddenly remembering that Ruth has likely come across Juliet's name already in his file.

_Shit!_

“It's not what you think,” he's quick to add.

“What is it then?” she asks boldly, lifting her gaze to his.

He sighs. “I know you don't want people to know about us, Ruth,” he says carefully, “and I understand why. Juliet is... very cunning and ambitious. Just yesterday, she tried to blackmail me over an operation I'd been involved in during the cold war.”

“You're trying to protect me,” she murmurs, realisation dawning.

“Yes.” His eyes are open and honest, and she feels her heart flood with love for him and gratitude.

_God, he's wonderful. How could I have doubted him?_

“Blackmail? What did she want from you?” she asks, suddenly registering what he's just said.

“She wanted my support when the Home Secretary asked for my views on her appointment as National Security Coordinator.” Ruth's eyes widen in shock, so he quickly adds, “That's not why I gave it. She had nothing over me at that point. I'd already told the Home Secretary about my involvement in operation Omega.”

“Omega?” she frowns, thinking. “I thought that was a fabrication of German intelligence.”

“Not exactly.” He sighs and rubs his face with his hand. The list of people who know about this operation is getting far too long for comfort. When his eyes meet Ruth's again, however, he knows that she deserves to know the truth and, more importantly, that he _wants_ to tell her. “It wasn't my finest hour. I placed my faith in a rogue agent who turned out to be unstable. I hadn't intended any casualties.”

Her eyes soften, filling with understanding and compassion.

_How does she always see the best in me? Christ! I don't deserve her._

“I told the Home Secretary,” he continues. “And I offered him my resignation.”

“What?!”

“He refused it.”

The shock on her face turns to disbelief, then pleasure. “I never knew the Home Secretary could be such a sensible man.”

He smiles, reaching his hand across the table and linking their fingers together when she places hers in his.

“I love you,” he says.

She smiles. “I know. I love you too.”

“I will always do everything I can to protect you, Ruth.”

She frowns. “Why now, Harry? What is it about... _her_ that worries you so much? And if you're so worried, why recommend her to be your boss?”

“After our success yesterday – in which she played a major part – I had no choice,” he attempts to explain. “It would have been unwise to antagonise her now. She's unpredictable and... ruthless, but she's also a patriot and, I have no doubt, will do her best for Britain. But she's terribly ambitious, Ruth. I kept her away as long as I could.”

“Kept her away? You mean you arranged for her to stay in Washington?!”

“Yes.”

She lifts her eyebrows, looking stunned. “Remind me never to get on your wrong side.”

He smiles, his eyes softening.

“The point I'm trying to make, Ruth, is that whereas before I was reasonably confident we could keep this between us without much effort on our part, now-”

“You think Juliet Shaw is likely to be looking for something else she can hold over your head,” she finishes for him.

“Yes.”

“So what does that mean for us, Harry?”

“It means the chances of us being found out are much higher than before,” he confesses. “We might have to be a lot more careful on the Grid, especially if she's present. She's unlikely to have you followed unless she picks up on something first, so it's probably best if you don't come here any more. I'll be more vigilant and take a cleaning route to yours whenever I come round, and-”

“No!” Her eyes flash so fiercely that he's terrified suddenly that this is the end of the road for them. “We're not going to sneak around like scared little mice just because Juliet _bloody_ Shaw's back in town. I won't give her the satisfaction. In fact, let's move in together. You're _mine_ and I'm not playing her little games.”

His mouth drops open.

“What?”

“You're quite scary when you get cross like that, Ruth.” She blushes, ruining the effect of her anger. “Rather sexy too,” he adds, squeezing her hand.

Now she smiles.

“Are you sure, Ruth?” he asks, his heart pounding with hope.

“Yes.”

“It will mean people finding out about us eventually and Juliet might...”

“Use me to get to you?” He nods. “I know. Any number of people might do that, Harry. Look at what they did with Fiona and Adam.” He sighs and drops his gaze, a mixture of worry and guilt making his stomach churn. She squeezes his hand and murmurs, “I happen to think you're worth the risk, Harry.”

He looks up sharply, his gaze full of wonder.

“I don't know when or how, but I've fallen in love with you, Harry Pearce, and I want to share my life with you. I understand that might put me in some danger, but I'm a spy. I'm in danger already. Just yesterday an assassin killed Mark, my driver. It could so easily have been me.” Her eyes have clouded over now, the sorrow in their depths pulling at his heart-strings.

He squeezes her hand, the thought of losing her making his chest tighten, his breathing more laboured.

“I hardly knew him, Harry, but I feel... He told me his wife's pregnant. That poor woman. That poor little one growing up without her dad.” Her eyes are over-bright with unshed tears. “Life's so short, Harry. I don't want to waste any more time. I'm ready for more. I _want_ more.”

He nods, his lips curling up at the edges a little, the joy at the thought of living with Ruth greater than the sorrow of losing another agent, especially one that wasn't from his own team. Sometimes he worries that he will become immune to it one day.

_That will be the day I walk away._

“On one condition though,” she adds, her voice hardening a little with determination and pulling him out of his thoughts.

“What's that?”

“That we make another pact.” He tilts his head to the side. “No guilt, Harry. Whichever one of us... goes first, the other won't feel guilty over it. All right?”

“Ruth-”

“No. Hear me out. If I'm taken hostage and you can't save me, Harry, I need to know that you won't spend the rest of your life beating yourself up about it. You will grieve, yes, but you must promise not to feel guilty. Whatever happens, it won't be your fault.”

“I'm not sure I can do that, Ruth,” he murmurs. He feels guilty about the loss of every one of his agents. How much more would he feel for Ruth?

_It doesn't even bear thinking about._

“You have to find a way.” Her eyes are fierce again, her voice decisive. “Remember that I chose this work, that I chose to be with you, fully aware and accepting of the risks. Think of all the other times when I could have been killed in the line of duty, think of my death as a noble sacrifice of love – like Danny's was – but you have to promise that you won't destroy your life with guilt. If I die because someone's trying to get you to do the wrong thing, I will be with you, Harry, wanting, _willing_ you to do the _right_ thing no matter the consequence for me. I will love you even more for it and I will never, _ever_ regret loving you, or all this time that we've spent together. Okay? I promise.”

“You are the most remarkable woman I have ever known,” he confesses in awe, overcome by her.

She blushes. “Stop trying to change the subject, Harry. Do we have a deal?”

He sighs. “I'll try.”

“No. Say the words. We're making another pact.”

“I'll not feel guilty over your death, Ruth,” he says, smiling at her obstinacy. Stubborn old mule, he thinks fondly.

“Good. And I promise not to feel guilty over yours.” She nods and squeezes his hand.

“May I kiss you now?” he asks huskily.

She blushes. “Yes,” she agrees. “Just so long as you don't forget you've promised Scarlet a walk this morning. She'll be very disappointed if you drag me back to bed instead.”

He smiles, getting up and pulling her to her feet, wrapping his arms around her and leaning in, kissing her softly and murmuring against her lips, “We could just take her to the park, let her off the lead and hide in some bushes, Ruth. No one else will be around at this time in the morning.”

“Harry!” she objects breathlessly, though secretly she's rather turned on by the idea.

“You know you want to, Ruth,” he whispers. “I could put my glasses on.”

“Christ, you're awful, Harry Pearce. How am I meant to resist you?”

“You're not... You're meant to fall into my arms, Ruth... Kiss me... Love me... Let me have your body... Take mine.” He punctuates his words with kisses, each one deeper then the last until he's kissing her with such hunger, anyone would think he hasn't had her for a month of Sundays.

The need for air overwhelms them eventually and they have to break apart. “We were made for each other, Ruth,” he growls softly as they stand, his hand cupping her cheek, arm wrapped around her waist, holding her close, their chests heaving to catch their breaths. His eyes are glowing with a fierce kind of love that has her insides trembling, her heart trilling like a bird's.

“Who needs Rumi when I have you?” she whispers, leaning in for another kiss.


	48. Chapter 48

“Yours or mine?” he asks while they walk slowly round the park, her hand clasped in his as they watch Scarlet chase her ball.

“I don't know,” she confesses. “I love my place with its stained glass door and spacious kitchen, but the furniture is horribly dated and I don't know if you'd like living there.”

“I wouldn't mind.” He picks up the ball Scarlet drops at his feet and throws it again. He's got a good swing and probably wasn't lying when he said he used to be rather good at cricket, she thinks. “We need to consider several things though, one of which is how open we're planning to be about this.”

“What do you mean?”

“Well, for instance, I have a driver who picks me up at six every morning. It will become rather obvious and common knowledge quite quickly if he starts picking me up at yours.”

“Oh. I hadn't thought of that.”

“In theory, I should have told the DG about us already. In practice, it doesn't usually happen until things get serious.”

She nods. “Like us.”

“Yes.” He stops walking to look at her. “Do you own your home, Ruth?”

She frowns. “Yes. It was my great uncle's home. I didn't see him that often, about once a year at Christmas time, but he left it to me when he died some years ago. He had no other family. I was renting it out before I moved to London. The upkeep and taxes on it are rather steep though. I don't really have much left over for anything else, hence the horrible furniture.”

He smiles softly in understanding. “Mine's a safe house that I rent from MI-5.” She looks surprised, so he adds, “It works well for me. If I'm compromised for whatever reason, I move to another one. It's less of a headache that way. I have some property, but it's an insurance policy and not in my name.” The fact that it's in the name of one or more of his legends is implied.

“Do you have to move often?”

“Only once since becoming Section Head.” She frowns, so he adds. “JJ.”

“Ah yes,” she nods. “Just bad luck then.”

“Yes.” Scarlet returns, so he gives her his attention for a few moments before picking up the thread of their conversation again. “I wouldn't have any problem moving into your home, Ruth. The furniture could be replaced and I could pay you rent instead of giving it to the Service. Plus, I'm sure it'll be easier to rehouse Scarlet than Fidget. Cats tend to be a little trickier in that department as a general rule, don't they?”

“Yes... Do you think they'll be all right, living together?”

“I hope so. At least Fidget's got used to _me_ now,” he says hopefully.

“That's true. And the house is big enough to keep them apart if need be.”

“And you have a back garden.”

“Scarlet will like that.”

“She will,” he agrees.

They fall silent and continue their walk.

“It's frightening and overwhelming – the thought of everyone knowing,” she confesses.

He squeezes her hand and purses his lips thoughtfully before he asks, “What worries you most?”

“What people will think of me, that they'll treat me differently, that I'll be excluded, isolated from the team. They will assume I tell you everything and will stop trusting me with low-level, unimportant, little things that people talk about and don't necessarily want their boss to know.”

They continue to walk in silence as he considers these things. “I remember when I took my current post how difficult it was to adjust to not being part of the team, but separate from it, above all the little things. It's very isolating. It's only recently that I've really felt part of something again... with you.” He turns to look at her and she can't help smiling up at him.

“I'm not backing out of this, Harry,” she reassures him softly.

“Good,” he nods and calls Scarlet to his side, reattaching her lead before reaching for her hand again and turning towards home. “Why don't you try talking to Fiona about it?” he suggests. “She's in a similar position. Perhaps it'll help to hear her perspective, perhaps she has some advise to offer. And you might be able to help her too, to find her way back – or forward – after Danny.”

“That's a good idea, Harry,” she replies and sees him smile bashfully at her praise. “I love you,” she adds, squeezing his hand.

“Me too,” he replies, meeting and holding her gaze.

 


	49. Chapter 49

“What about you, Ruth?”

“What about me?” she asks, frowning as she lifts her eyes to Zaf's face, sure he has a plan to distract her. She's been working with her headphones on all morning with a view to avoiding this. It's a slow day and she knows from experience that the field agents hate it. Whereas for her it is a much needed chance to catch up on paperwork and do some translating, which she loves, they view it as a nuisance and attempt to relieve their boredom by making mischief. Danny used to come up with all sorts of naughty schemes and practical jokes to pass the time, encouraged by Zoe and often Sam.

_Oh Danny. I miss you. And Zoe. Even Sam. I miss you all so much._

“Favourite superhero.”

_Christ!_

“What?” She pretends she hasn't heard to calm her racing heart. They can't possibly know already, can they?

“What's your favourite superhero?” Colin clarifies, turning to look at her. He's busy checking everyone's computers today to making sure everything's working as it should be. He's currently inspecting what used to be Sam's.

“Why?” she asks, trying not to sound defensive or in a complete panic.

“Zaf's got a bet going,” Adam smiles as he walks over and pours himself into a chair, leaning back with his hands behind his head to grin at her.

She breathes a sigh of relief.

_Just a coincidence. Thank God!_

“Of course he does. I should have known. Whom are you asking?”

“The whole of Section D,” he replies.

“The most popular superhero in Section D?”

“Yeah.”

“He's betting on it being-”

“Hey!” Zaf interrupts. “Don't tell her that! It's got to be unbiased.”

“Sorry.” Adam shrugs, smirking.

“So, Ruth, favourite superhero?”

“Oh.. er.. the Four Marys?”

“What?!” Zaf looks confused.

Adam laughs.

“I used to read Bunty as a girl, not ridiculous comics about flying men, terrible villains and the end of the world.”

Zaf still looks confused.

“It's a comic book for girls. The Four Marys was a long running story about four girls all called Mary who attend St. Elmo's, a boarding school for girls. My sister used to read it,” Colin enlightens him, pausing what he's doing for a moment to look smug in a Colin kind of way, before he turns back to the computer, hands flying across the keyboard again. He loves it when he knows something the other men on the Grid don't.

“Oh. Right,” Zaf says. Then he brightens. “You must have seen a film at some point though, Ruth. Don't tell me you never saw Superman or Batman. They're classics!”

“Now who's trying to slip in some bias?” Adam quirks an eyebrow.

Zaf ignores him.

“I suppose I did,” she agrees reluctantly.

“There you go then. Which was your favourite?”

“Out of those two?”

“Out of any of the ones you know,” Colin is quick to clarify. “Could be Wolverine, Zorro, Catwoman, or Blade, _or_ -”

“We get the picture,” Zaf interrupts rather forcefully.

“Batman,” she replies a little dreamily, thinking of Harry and suppressing a smile.

“Really? I thought you'd say Superman.” Zaf frowns.

“Why?” she asks, curious and somewhat amused by his obvious disappointment.

_No prizes for guessing who Zaf's betting on being Section D's favourite superhero then._

“Well, he can fly, can't he? And he's got a bird – the same one in every film. That's... romantic, or something, isn't it? And Batman's a bit dark. All that stuff about his parents.”

“Yes, but at least he's human. Superman's an alien. Most of the other ones are in fact, aren't they?”

“Some are mutants,” Colin chimes in again.

She wrinkles her nose in distaste. “Yuck!”

Adam laughs. “She has you there, Zaf.”

“Ah, but he's an alien with all the right equipment.” Zaf winks, making her blush, _damn him!_ “And did I mention that he can _fly_?!”

“Yes, well, as thrilling as that sounds, I much prefer it in a bed and with someone who can't look through my top without my permission, thank you very much!”

Adam laughs. Colin and Zaf look a little stunned.

“Besides,” she adds quickly as she picks up her headphones intent on getting back to work, “we're all a little dark, Zaf. It's part of being human.”

“Told you,” says Adam with a triumphant grin. “Spooks love Batman. He's the ultimate spy really.”

Zaf sighs, then spotting Harry walking across the Grid towards them, he raises his voice, calling out, “Harry! What's your favourite superhero?”

“Batman,” he replies without missing a beat, his eyes on Ruth.

How she manages to keep a straight face, she'll never know.

She turns to Adam, seeking a distraction from those beautiful, haze eyes, twinkling at her so perfectly. “Is Fiona home today, Adam?”

“Should be,” he replies. “Why?”

“I thought I'd pay her a visit.”

He smiles. “That's very kind of you, Ruth. She'll like that.”

“Good.” She smiles.

“A moment of your time, please, Ruth,” Harry's voice interrupts softly.

“Yes, of course,” she replies, lifting her eyes to his and quickly looking away again, trying to calm her racing heart as she notes that Colin has finished with Sam's computer and moved on to Zaf's, taking advantage of him wandering off, probably to ask everyone else about their favourite superhero. “I was... thinking of leaving a little early today to visit Fiona, seeing as it's a slow day,” she adds, glancing back up at him.

“That's a good idea, Ruth,” he replies, his eyes twinkling just a little to be giving her the credit for his own idea. “This won't take a moment.” And with that he turns and walks back to his office, leaving her to follow in her own time.

Adam watches the exchange, and for the first time, he begins to wonder. There's something there in the subtle little signals of their body language and their gaze as they look at each other. He hasn't noticed it before, perhaps because he's been so busy and distracted by Danny's loss and Fiona, or perhaps because it's new. He can't tell yet, but he's sure there's something between them, a mutual attraction at the very least.

_Who'd have thought?! Harry and Ruth!_

He mulls it over for a few moments. Are they aware of it themselves yet, he wonders, and if they are, have they acted on it?

He watches Ruth gather a few folders before following Harry to his office, her head lowered as she crosses the Grid.

He grins.

_Hiding from me, Ruth? Or just nervous about being near Harry? A few butterflies making you uncomfortable?_

He sees Harry look up when she enters his office and smile just a little before he moves towards her and out of view of the windows, so he can no longer observe them.

_Unusual little smile that. Interesting. Very interesting. I wonder what Fiona will make of it..._

He gets up and stretches before making his way to the kitchen to get some coffee. He doesn't want to be caught staring. They're both such private people and he doesn't want to ruin anything for them. Whether they're an item or not, Ruth and Harry deserve his respect and their privacy. That's the first thing Fiona would tell him. He's almost got her convinced to return to the Grid. Perhaps this little bit of news, along with Ruth's visit this afternoon, will give her the final push she needs to come back to work.

_Drinks at the George tonight then. Give Ruth and Fi a chance to have a proper chat._


	50. Chapter 50

“Ruth! It's lovely to see you.” Fiona greets her with a smile, leaning in to embrace her briefly. “Come in,” she adds, stepping aside to let her through.

“Thanks.” She removes her coat and hands it to Fiona before following her through to the kitchen.

“Tea, coffee?”

“Tea, please.” The room is long and thin, but spacious and full of light. “This is lovely.”

“Thank you,” Fiona smiles, flicking on the kettle. “Adam found the house, but we both love it now. I particularly like the kitchen. There's so much light! Would you like a tour?”

“Oh, yes please.”

“All right. Let me just make the tea and it can brew while I show you around. Wes loves his room, and though the stairs are a bit steep, the previous owners created a lovely little nook under there. Wes calls it his castle. I haven't been allowed to store anything in it.”

“I should think not!” Ruth laughs.

“There's also a tree-house in the back garden.”

“A little boy's heaven.”

“Exactly.” Fiona smiles and pours the now boiling water into the teapot, setting it on the table and covering it with a tea-cosy. “There we go. Right. Follow me.”

They spend the next few minutes wandering around Fiona and Adam's new home. It's well designed inside to give the illusion of being larger than it is, spacious and full of natural light, with lost of nooks and crannies for storage. It seems like none of the space available is wasted. The big tree in the back garden does indeed have a small tree-house in it and the fort under the stairs is charming. The door to the cupboard has been modified to make it look like a portcullis and there's an arrow-slit to the side of it.

“Oh, Wes must _love_ this!”

“He does,” Fiona smiles. “He spends almost all day in there. There's a stepladder inside that leads to a little platform, see?”

“Oh yes!”

“And at the top of that, there's a little round window through which Wes can rain more arrows down on anyone standing in front of the back door.”

“That's fantastic! Such a cleaver idea.”

“I know. I think Adam and I were sold on this house the moment we saw this.”

“I bet Wes was too! Where is he, by the way?”

“He's got his first rugby practice today. Jill, one of his friends' mum, is picking the boys up and dropping them home after practice.”

“That's nice,” she smiles as they walk back into the kitchen.

“Yeah. It's been nice these last few weeks to have the opportunity to return the favour. Adam and I don't often get to do that.”

“No, I imagine not.” Fiona has produced some biscuits, sugar and milk, so she starts adding the latter to her cup. “Thank you,” she says as Fiona pours her tea and then her own. Then she takes a fortifying sip of the hot liquid before she asks, “So what are your plans, Fiona, now that you've got yourself settled here?”

“Now that the last box is unpacked?” Fiona laughs.

“Yes.”

“Adam wants me to go back,” she says honestly, looking out of the large window in front of them. “It's funny really. When I moved over from Six, he wasn't at all keen to have me going out in the field and I felt that I couldn't even imagine myself doing anything else. Now, he's the one encouraging me to return.”

“Do you not want to?”

“I don't know.” She shakes her head, turning to look at Ruth. “I really thought I was going to die, Ruth, and the thought of Wes growing up without me... It doesn't even bear thinking about.”

“Yes.” She can't imagine how she'd feel if she had a child.

“But I'm starting to miss it too. I'm getting... restless, and there's part of me that doesn't want to concede defeat. I want to go back to prove to myself that I can. It's the same feeling I had after leaving Syria, leaving Farook. I needed to prove to myself that I can do it, that the experience hadn't broken me.”

“So, you'll come back?”

“Probably,” she sighs, then smiles ruefully. “It's in the blood – spying. I know myself, Ruth. I could never settle for an office job.”

Ruth smiles in acknowledgement. She likes her desk job, but even _she_ loves the adrenaline rush of an op, the satisfaction of a job well done, even if things get out of hand sometimes and she ends up tied to the banister by a man she considered a friend.

“What about you, Ruth?” Fiona asks now. “How are things?”

“Good,” she nods, dropping her gaze and swallowing nervously. “Really good, actually.”

“Oh?” Fiona's eyebrow shoots up and she leans in slightly.

Ruth takes a biscuit and dips it into her tea before bringing it to her mouth and sucking on it.

“It's... um... well, it's part of the reason I wanted to come round today... to talk.” She glances up at Fiona to find her eyes on her, gentle and encouraging. “I... um... I thought, well... _Harry_ thought you might... be able to give me some advise.”

“Harry thought? He had no advice to give you himself?” Fiona looks intrigued.

“Well, _actually_... he's the reason really that I need advice.” She lifts her eyes to Fiona's again and sees the penny drop.

“Oh!” For a moment, she looks stunned, but then she smiles warmly. “That's wonderful, Ruth.”

“It is?” she asks, taken aback. She's been so worried about telling people that she hasn't considered the possibility that people might be _happy_ about it.

“Of course! Isn't it?”

“Yes,” she smiles, dropping her gaze and blushing. “It _is_ wonderful.”

Fiona grins. “There you go then.”

She picks up a piece of the biscuit she's broken into bits without realising and dips it in her tea, popping it into her mouth. “But what will people think? How do I cope with being excluded for dating the boss? How has it been for you?” she asks softly.

“Well, my experience has been a little different to yours. I met Adam in Damascus, as you know. I was his asset first and I guess you could say he recruited me. We fell in love, and as the situation with Farook got progressively more dangerous, he wanted to extract me. He hadn't a shred of authorisation to do that and I wasn't about to leave him there on his own. I knew what Farook was capable of and I wanted to be there to help and protect him.” She pauses to take a sip of her tea, looking out the window again, lost in the memories. “After Farook was taken care of and we'd managed to escape and return to Britain, I joined MI-6 and we worked together. We both wanted that.”

“I like working with Harry too,” she says softly when Fiona looks at her. “I don't want to move to another section.”

She smiles. “Nor should you, Ruth. It's important to do what you and Harry want, what you feel is best for _you_. People will believe what they want to believe, and there will be those who judge you or treat you differently, but there will also be those who know you well and still trust you and consider you a friend. All I can say is that it gets easier with time.”

“ _How?_ ” She knows she sounds a little desperate.

“You feel more secure in your relationship and yourself. You've faced the worst that people can do or say about you and you've survived. When I first started, some people at Six resented me because I'd 'turned Adam's head' and 'made' him disobey orders. Then there were those who didn't believe I merited my job, that I'd only got it because of Adam. And there are always those who are just plain jealous.”

“Jealous?”

“Of what Adam and I have – the closeness, working together and going home together, the fact that we have a good, steady relationship, have a son. Some people are just like that. The main thing to remember is that you can't let them ruin it because then _they_ win and _you_ are miserable.”

Ruth nods, still looking worried.

“Don't worry so much, Ruth,” Fiona smiles suddenly, grasping her arm and giving it a little squeeze. “Adam and I won't treat you any differently. Neither will Zaf, or Malcolm, or Colin. We know you. We know you won't be telling secrets about us to Harry behind our backs. If I asked you to keep this conversation between us, I know I can rely on you to do that.”

Ruth smiles. “Yes.”

“So? What's there to worry about? Enjoy it, Ruth. Life's so short. And ultimately, the one thing I've learnt from my experience is that, if you believe in yourself and Harry, if you are confident and expect people to treat you no differently, to treat you with the same respect, then they will. People are a mirror. They reflect what you show them you believe and expect.”

“I've never thought of it like that.” She frowns.

“It's true. Trust me. This is the voice of experience speaking. I wasn't as confident as I appear now when I first started in MI-6 and Adam spent many a night holding me while I cried over something someone said. But in the end, it's what Adam and I had, still do after all this time, that's most important. The rest is just noise. Don't make the mistake of giving what others think, say and do more importance than what you and Harry feel.”

“You're right.” Ruth smiles now, finally feeling herself relax. “You're right. It doesn't matter what they say as long as Harry and I still love each other.”

“Exactly. That's what you need to focus on. And while you're in Section D, you'll have Harry and Adam and me to protect you from most of the unpleasantness.”

“Thank you,” she says, smiling gratefully at Fiona. “This conversation has made me feel so much better.”

“Any time, Ruth.” Fiona smiles. “And I mean that. Any time you need to talk, let me know.”

Ruth nods, touched by her offer, but before she can reply, the doorbell rings.

“That'll be Wes,” Fiona says and gets up to answer the door.


	51. Chapter 51

A most heavenly smell greets her as she opens her front door and she can't help the wide smile that spreads across her face.

“Harry?” she calls, front door still half-open. She's pretty sure it's him. She can't imagine anyone breaking into her house to cook for her, but she knows he'd be disappointed in her if she failed to check before entering the house. And she never wants to disappoint Harry.

“Hello,” he says, stepping through the doorway to the kitchen, wiping his hands on a tea-towel. “How did it go?”

“Good.” She enters the hall, closing and locking the door behind her. Then she puts down her bag, but before she can take off her coat, his arms are round her waist and he's kissing her warmly, tenderly.

“I love coming home to find you cooking me dinner,” she confesses against his lips. “When are you moving in?”

“As soon as you say the word.”

“Right now then?”

He smiles and kisses her again before pulling back to hug her tight and lift her off the floor, spinning her round in his arms.

She shrieks in surprise, then laughs, the sheer joy of it overwhelming.

“I love you,” he whispers when her feet touch the ground again, gazing deeply into her eyes.

“Me too.” She smiles. “I haven't felt this happy in years.”

He kisses her forehead and pulls back, turning towards the kitchen as he says, “Go wash your hands then and come to eat. We have some planning to do tonight.”

Soon they're sitting across from each other at the table, eating and joyfully planning Harry and Scarlet's move.

“My friends could help if we need them,” she suggests through a mouthful of mouth-watering, chicken curry.

“The wild women? Heaven help us!”

“Harry!”

“What?” She narrows her eyes at him. “All right. Fine! Might as well put them to good use,” he agrees seemingly reluctantly though his eyes are twinkling. “Though let's plan on keeping them sober, all right?”

She laughs and makes a note on the notepad by her right elbow to call Bridget.

“Now _there_ , we're in agreement. At least until we've finished. We can all go to the pub down the road after that.”

“Sounds good. Then they'll be someone else's problem.”

She giggles. “You're so naughty, Harry.”

“And that's why you love me.”

“That and your big...” She waits, grinning.

“Heart,” he finishes for her, smiling in return. “Or was it the bank account? I forget.”

“Neither. It's the fact that you're well endowed.”

“Now I remember.” He winks and she giggles again.

“I confess, I can't wait until I have you in my bed _every_ night.”

He chuckles. “Is that what it comes down to in the end? Now I'm almost scared to ask what you and Fiona talked about.”

“Wouldn't _you_ like to know.” Her eyes look so mischievous all of a sudden that he desperately wants to kiss her. God, he loves if when she's like this – playful and teasing and happy.

“As it happens, I would.” He leans towards her. “ _Very_ much.”

She smiles, then takes another mouthful of food, washing it down with a swig of her wine, watching him. He doesn't react, watching her right back, waiting. He's good at the waiting game, is her Harry.

“Viagra,” she says and can't help laughing at the look on his face.

_Gotcha!_

“Poor Adam,” he sighs, recovering from his surprise and playing along. “I never knew he had such troubles.”

Much to his satisfaction, that makes her laugh even harder.

“Adam's fine. I think she was more concerned about you,” she says eventually, when she's managed to catch her breath, eyes still twinkling.

He narrows his eyes at her and she wonders if perhaps she's pushed things too far.

“Well, I hope you set her straight on that score, or I might have to take matters into my own hands.”

“Oh? What are you planning to do? You can't start coming onto your employees, Harry. One of them's bound to slap you with a sexual harassment charge, sooner or later.”

There's something in her gaze – concern maybe? Worry?

_Oh Ruth. You have absolutely nothing to worry about, love._

Not that he can really blame her for worrying about him straying given his less than stellar past.

“I have no interest in seducing any of my other employees, Ruth. I already have the one I want.” That makes her smile. “But I might have to accidentally arrange for some of the rest of them to catch us in flagrante.”

“You wouldn't dare!”

“Maybe not.” He sees her relief, so he adds, “Perhaps a tape _would_ be better.”

“And how are you planning on getting me to make said tape? Are you going to tie me up?”

“Mmmm,” he hums, leaning forward again. “Now _there's_ an idea. Would you like me to tie you up, Ruth?”

His eyes are dark, his voice seductive suddenly, and she can't help the way her stomach does a little flip at the way he's looking at her.

“I don't know, Harry,” she replies. “I'll have to think about that. What I _do_ know, however, is that you're not having Malcolm and Colin set up hidden cameras in my house.”

It's so unexpected that he bursts out laughing, chuckling away for quite some time, while she watches him fondly, her eyes soft and warm and full of mirth.

“Oh Ruth,” he says eventually, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. “You're such a breath of fresh air and I love you... so much.”

“I love you too.”

He reaches for her hand across the table, bringing it to his lips and lovingly kissing her knuckles. “What did you _actually_ talk about with Fiona?” he asks as he lowers their hands to the table and smiles at her.

“We didn't talk about much really,” she says. “She's planning on coming back, you'll be pleased to know. I'm not sure she's ready just yet, though I might be wrong about that. Perhaps knowing about us will change things.”

“How do you mean?” he asks, intrigued.

“I think she's sort of decided to... take me under her wing, protect me from the gossip or whatever other unpleasantness I'll face at work.” She lifts her eyes to his. “It's rather sweet of her really. I suspect she had a much harder time of it herself than she let on. People can be so mean, Harry. Why is that?”

“I don't know.” He shakes his head and squeezes her hand. “It's going to be all right, Ruth.”

“She said that if I act confident and... demand respect, then people will give it to me, that it's what I _believe_ that's important.”

“That makes sense,” he nods. “We use that technique all the time. Immerse yourself in the legend and people will believe you are that person.”

“I don't know if I can do that, Harry.”

“Of course you can.” He smiles encouragingly. “You did magnificently with your mad friends. They couldn't tell it wasn't real.”

“But it _was_ real, Harry. My feelings were real.”

He smiles, eyes softening. “But your feelings are still real, Ruth. So are mine. You're still the same person. Nothing's changed. _That's_ the point.”

“I'm still insecure though. That hasn't changed either.”

“You're not insecure, Ruth. That's probably the one part that _has_ changed. A couple of days ago, you woke me in a most memorable way, you made love to me with a confidence that I've only every seen you display before at work.” She's blushing now, looking down at her plate, and it makes him smile fondly. “And you were magnificent, Ruth.” Now she looks up. “Then you faced your fear that Juliet was still important to me head on, and when you discovered how her return might affect us, you bravely decided that you were not going to hide any more, that you would face Juliet and the rest of the world, you would 'not play her little games', I believe, were your exact words.” She smiles now, looking rather pleased with herself. “You are brave and strong and there is nothing you cannot face, cannot do, cannot conquer in this world. And I love you for it. All of it – your courage and your uncertainty, your shyness, your modesty, your brilliance and your fierce sense of justice that turns you into a lioness at times. You're a remarkable woman, Ruth.”

_Oh Harry, you wonderful, beautiful man. I love you._

She smiles crookedly and squeezes his hand, trying to control her emotions that are threatening to overwhelm her. If that's the way he sees her, it's no wonder he's head-over-heels in love with her. And she can't help wishing in that moment that she could see herself like that too.

“If you're trying to seduce me, Harry,” she manages to say after a few moments, “it's working.”

He smiles and brings her hand to his lips again before saying, “Later. We still have much to arrange before I can move in and seduce you everyday for the rest of our lives.”

“Ever the optimist,” she giggles.

“When it comes to sex, always,” he smiles. “But enough distractions, Ruth. What does the schedule look like now?”

“Okay.” She looks down at her list. “So this weekend, you and I will go through what we've got here and decide what we want to keep and what we can give away. I'll call the Red Cross or the Heart Foundation or something to see if any of them can pass by and pick up what we don't want on Sunday. Then next weekend-”

“Wait,” he objects. “It can't be next weekend.”

“Why not?”

“It's the fifth test, Ruth!”

“Cricket again?”

“Ruuuuth! We have a really good shot at _finally_ winning back the Ashes!”

She smiles. “I know, Harry. I'm just yanking your chain.”

He narrows his eyes at her. “I was going to offer to take you with me to watch, but I'm not so sure now.” He pouts so adorably that she wants to kiss him.

“Watch?”

“At the Oval.”

She smiles, then frowns thinking about it. “There'll be people there.”

“Mmm-hmmm,” he agrees. “Almost twenty-five thousand of them.”

“I mean people from the Service.”

“Very likely, yes. Malcolm certainly will. We often go together. We might even bump into Adam. He said something about taking young Wesley.”

“Are you planning on going for all five days?”

“No. I don't think I can get away with that! The first day, I thought, and the last... to celebrate.”

“Careful! You're going to jinx it.”

“No,” he shakes his head. “They'll win. You'll see. It's a good year for cricket... and for me personally.”

That makes her smile.

“Think about it and let me know. I should get your ticket soon if you want to join me.”

“Won't it be impossible, so close to the match?”

“I'm a spy, Ruth. I have my ways.”

“All right,” she says, making a sudden decision. She has to start somewhere after all. “I'd like to come with you.” He smirks suggestively, making her roll her eyes and add quickly, “To see the cricket, Harry.”

He grins. “Obviously. Why? What did you think, I thought, you meant?”

She throws her napkin at his face.


	52. Chapter 52

He uses his key to slip into the house, calling out, “Ruth?”

“In here,” she replies and he follows the sound of her voice to the living room. “Good morning.” She smiles, stepping close and rising on her toes to kiss him, hands threading through his hair. She loves his hair. It's so soft.

“Morning.” He slips his arms around her waist and kisses her some more.

_Soon I'll be living here. I'll be able to do this every morning._

When they break apart, they're both grinning.

“I thought we could start in here,” she says eventually, taking a step back.

“Sounds good. I've brought Scarlet along,” he confesses. “She's in the car. I tried ringing to ask what you thought, but you didn't answer, so I brought her anyway. I thought it might be good if-”

“She got used to her new home?” He nods and she smiles. “Good idea. Why don't you go get her and we'll see how she likes it?”

He kisses her once more in gratitude before turning and going back to get his dog.

She's ecstatic, greeting Ruth enthusiastically before darting about, sniffing at everything, happily exploring her new home, her tail wagging nineteen to the dozen as she drags Harry around behind her.

Ruth laughs at her enthusiasm and he can't help joining in until he feels a twinge from his bad knee. “Steady now, Scarlet,” he complains, tugging on her lead.”Slow down!”

It's at the foot of the stairs that Scarlet first meets Fidget. She stops short, suddenly unsure of herself, eyeing Fidget with cautious interest, tail stiff initially, then beginning to relax and wag gently from side to side. Fidget growls softly in the back of his throat for a moment or two, flattening his ears and lifting a front paw in warning, his mouth twitching as he thinks about baring his teeth, but then he too relaxes a little. It is at this moment that Harry calls Scarlet to his side, tugging on her lead until she reluctantly obeys. This is exactly the reason he's kept the lead on.

“Well, they've been introduced,” he says. “And it wasn't a total disaster. Let's give them some time to get used to each other.”

“Good idea,” she agrees. “Why don't we keep Scarlet with us in the living room? Fidget can have the rest of the house for now.”

“All right.” And with that they set to work, going through Ruth's sitting room with a view of making it _theirs_.

“What do you think of the sofa?” she asks.

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

“I have rather a soft spot for it,” he confesses. “Every time I look at it, I remember what we did when you first saw me in my reading glasses.”

She blushes most beautifully at that. “Harry,” she sighs, “you old romantic.”

“Less of the old, thank you very much.”

“Only if you give me more of the romantic.”

He smiles. “Always,” he murmurs, stepping close and softly kissing her lips.

She sighs, wrapping her arms around him and pressing her face into his chest, inhaling deeply. “I'm going to love living with you, Harry, if it's always this good.”

“I can't promise that, Ruth. Realistically, you'll find having me around annoying at times, we'll disagree and argue sometimes, and my working late and coming home exhausted, barely able to carry myself to bed, will get old rather quickly, I imagine. But hopefully, you won't regret this, Ruth. Hopefully, the good moments will outweigh the bad.”

She nods and smiles up at him. “I'm sure they will.” Then she pulls out of his arms and frowns at the sofa again. “It's not very comfy to sit on.”

“We could lie on it instead. It's spacious. We both fit, which is more than can be said for any modern sofa. And I could sleep on it comfortably when you throw me out of our room when we have a fight.”

She smiles. “We have a guest room, Harry, and besides, I won't throw you out of bed, no matter what you've done.”

“Really?” He looks rather hopeful at that, making her heart warm. Clearly his experience with Jane had been rather different, though given what she's seen of his file, she can't exactly blame her.

“Really. The only reason I'd not want you in my bed, Harry, is if you've been in someone else's. And if that were to ever happen, it would be over between us. No second chances. You'd have to move out.”

He nods seriously. “I understand, Ruth. I wouldn't do that to you. I promise.”

“Good. And I hope you know, I would never do that to you either.”

He smiles. “I know.”

“So,” she says, turning back to the sofa, “you're going to make me keep it, aren't you?”

“I don't mind giving away the other one. It's smaller and I have no sentimental attachment to that one. We could get a couple of armchairs instead and have the covers redone on the sofa to match. With a few extra cushions behind one's back, it'll even be comfortable to sit on.”

She sighs. “Very well. I'd like to get rid of the wicker chair, get something more comfy for curling up on to read a book.”

“Armchairs it is then – my house-warming gift to us.”

She laughs.

“What about your own furniture, Harry? Didn't you want to keep some of that, bring it over here?”

“I have a sideboard that was my parent's I'd rather like to keep,” he replies. “And my mother's piano.”

She smiles. “I'd love to have your piano here. It's much better than mine.”

“I'd love to hear you play it. It's been idle too long.” She blushes and turns away again, scanning the room for something else to distract them, and it makes his heart warm.

“How about I get rid of this horrible thing – whatever it is. Is it a sideboard, d'you think?”

“It can probably be classified as such.”

“Good. Then we can put yours in its place, or over there, where the settee is. Then the armchairs can go here with a light between them and a side table – maybe that one you have next to your sofa – and we can sit and read our books together.” She smiles up at him in satisfaction.

“Sounds good.”

“Right. We'd best empty it. I'll get some boxes while you take Scarlet outside. It looks like she needs to go.”

“So she does. I'll show her the garden.” He kisses her softly and calls to his dog, putting her back on the lead in case they encounter Fidget. At the door, he stops and asks, “Are there any plants you'd like me to keep her away from? She occasionally likes to dig things up.”

She laughs and shakes her head. “Nothing special. Let her have at it. You never know, she might save me some weeding. In any case, if she's going to be out there unsupervised soon, we might as well discover which plants she has it in for.”


	53. Chapter 53

“Ruth?!” His voice sounds incredulous and, when she pulls her head out of the cupboard and turns to look at him, her heart almost stops.

“Oh God,” she breathes.

_Stupid, stupid, stupid! How could I forget that was in there? Shit!_

“Care to explain?” He lifts one eyebrow, wiggling the MD-reader at her.

“I can explain.”

“I have no doubt you can explain,” he agrees, trying hard not to smile at her distress. Part of him wants to pull her into his arms and reassure her, but there is a part of him that knows this is serious, and as her Section Head, he needs to get to the bottom of it.

_Oh Ruth! Why? What have you done?_

“I borrowed it,” she says softly, sitting back on her haunches and dropping her gaze, her body partly shielded from him by the open cupboard. “I took some work home several months ago now, thinking I could look at it over the weekend and return it on Monday.”

“Was this Source Karl transcripts?”

She looks up at him sharply and he immediately regrets his words. There's something in her eyes – an anger, a pain – that makes him uneasy suddenly. “No. Of course not.” Her voice is colder now, more distant.

_Christ, Harry! Well done. Looks like you're going to have your first fight, you complete imbecile!_

“I'm sorry,” he apologises quickly. “That was unfair of me.”

She clears her throat, drawing her knees to her chest and wrapping her arms around them as she sits down on the floor. She doesn't look at him while she speaks. “On Monday, it was pissing it down and I was scared it would get damaged, so I didn't take it in that day. By Tuesday though, Malcolm had noticed it was missing. He was really rather upset and I was sure he'd rigged something up to spy on whoever put it back so he'd know who stole it. So I left it for a few months in the hope that he'd forget about it and I could return it without anyone being the wiser. To be honest, I'd quite forgotten it was there. I didn't intend to keep it this long.”

_Thank God! She's not breaking the rules, just bending them a little. Okay – rather a lot. This is an expensive piece of equipment._

“I'll take it back in on Monday and give it to Malcolm myself,” he says softly. “He doesn't need to know where it came from.”

“Thank you,” she replies, but she still doesn't look at him. “I'm sorry. I know it was wrong of me to borrow it in the first place.”

“It's all right, Ruth. People make mistakes. It's part of being human.” Gently he puts the MD reader down on top of the sideboard they're emptying and moves closer. “The equipment isn't damaged or lost. There's no need to look so glum.”

She nods, covering her eyes with her hands and sliding them up, threading her fingers through her hair and up over her head. “You're right,” she says and sits up, kneeling before the sideboard once more and reaching inside it, continuing with her work.

She still hasn't looked at him.

He watches her for a moment in silence before he realises he has to say something. They need to talk about whatever it is that's bothering her about 'Karl', bothering him too if he's honest. That comment hadn't come from nowhere. And as much as he's scared of the outcome of such a conversation, ignoring the issue will only leave it festering, poisoning their relationship for months to come. Given how long he's waited for this chance to be with her, he's not prepared to let it slip through his fingers no matter how uncomfortable this conversation turns out to be.

“I was there that night... in Trafalgar square,” he says softly.

“What?!” She sits up abruptly and turns to look at him, her eyes on fire. “You were spying on me?! Why?”

It's his turn to look down, clasping his hands together. “I don't know. Making sure he wasn't... that you were safe... And torturing myself, I suppose.” She doesn't say anything, so he adds softly, “I was jealous. I wanted... you. I wanted you, Ruth.” He lifts his eyes to her face, half-scared of what he might see there, desperately ashamed of himself but knowing he owes her this, an explanation of his actions.

“Oh Harry,” she sighs, gaze softening. “Why didn't you say something?”

“What, Ruth? This was six months ago. What could I have possibly said to you then that wouldn't have made you run a mile, that would have made you take me seriously?”

She frowns and twists her mouth sadly, nodding slowly as she admits, “Nothing. I doubt I would have believed you. And I was hopeless back then. He was sweet and kind, yet I was so nervous, I could barely walk into that place and afterwards...”

“He was thinking about kissing you, but you pulled away,” he observes softly.

“I did,” she agrees. “And he was as timid as I was.”

“Thank God.”

“Yes.” She smiles up at him, reaching for his hands and squeezing them in her own. “Thank God indeed.”

“I'm sorry for and ashamed of what I did,” he confesses softly.

“It's okay. People make mistakes. It's part of being human.” He smiles to hear her repeat his own words back to him.

“I handled the whole situation very badly. It was a shambles. Forgive me? I didn't mean to hurt you.”

“I forgive you, Harry. And I'm glad things worked out this way. I hate to think we might never have known each other like this.”

“We would have, Ruth,” he whispers, drawing her into his arms and softly kissing her hair. “It would have just taken a little while longer. But we would have come together eventually. I'm sure of it.”


	54. Chapter 54

The sun is shining, the cricket is good, England is playing well, she's sitting at the Oval with Harry on one side and Malcolm on the other, and what's more, the beer has helped her relax and stop worrying about who might be watching.

_Sod them all!_

She smiles.

Life is good, she decides in that moment.

“I didn't know you liked cricket, Ruth,” Malcolm says, speaking loudly to be heard over the crowd of cheering fans as England gets another boundary.

“I don't normally,” she confesses, “but it seemed a shame to miss _this_.”

“She's only here to watch Pietersen, Malcolm,” Harry teases lightly. “She's rather a big fan.”

Malcolm looks a little surprised by this statement.

“Really?”

“Well, what can I say? It's the accent. It does things to me,” she teases right back, shooting Harry a mischievous look.

Harry pouts and Malcolm looks stunned for a second, then a little embarrassed.

_Whoops! Oh dear. Beer on a hot day clearly wasn't such a good idea after all._

“He's the same age as Catherine,” Harry grumbles despondently beside her, loud enough for her to hear, though she's sure Malcolm didn't catch that.

She grins.

_Oh, what the hell! This is just too much fun._

“Feeling a little old, Harry?”

He shoots her a filthy look, earning him an even wider smile, complete with dimples, and a reassuring pat on his thigh, followed by a gentle squeeze.

“Don't worry. I still love you best.”

Over her shoulder, Harry sees Malcolm's mouth drop open before he catches Harry's eye and swiftly looks away.

Beer in the sun is clearly quite an intoxicating combination for Ruth, he thinks, grinning. She hasn't had more than a pint, yet she's acting quite tipsy, like she'd normally act after polishing off half a bottle of wine or more.

“That's good to know,” he murmurs, covering her hand with his where it still rests on his leg.

“Besides, I hate what he's done to his hair. What on earth was the man thinking?!”

That makes Harry chuckle and even Malcolm cracks a smile now.

“Clearly-” he begins only to be interrupted.

“Auntie Ruth! Uncle Harry!” a joyous, little boy's voice makes them look up to find Wes sprinting up the steps towards them, a smiling Adam striding up behind him.

“Hello, young man,” Harry says, grateful to have an aisle seat as the boy comes to a stop beside him and launches himself at him, giving him a big bear hug. “Enjoying the game?” he asks when he pulls back.

“Oh yes! It's brilliant!” He grins widely then wiggles and climbs over his legs to reach Ruth who gets a similarly hearty hug. “Auntie Ruth, are you coming home with us today?”

“Not today, Wes,” she smiles, pulling him onto her lap so the people behind can still see.

“Why not? I have a surprise for you.” He looks so earnest and the spitting image of Adam, who is now shaking hands with Harry.

“Oh, I love surprises!”

“Mummy helped me make it. It's inside my castle. It's for you... and Mummy... and _all_ my guests to be comfy because they have to sit on the floor. Mummy said you'll like it.”

“That sounds lovely, Wes. If it's comfy, we'll be able to read more of King Arthur's adventures.”

“Now?” he asks eagerly.

“Not now. We're watching the cricket now.”

“Daddy said we have to go home soon.” He looks so crestfallen that her heart almost breaks for him.

_How do people manage to parent effectively when their children look at them like that? I'd never be able to say no!_

“Say hello to your Uncle Malcolm too, Wes,” Adam prompts softly.

“Hello.” He turns to look at Malcolm, but doesn't attempt to give him a hug.

“Hello, young Wesley,” Malcolm smiles. “Do you want to see a good trick?”

“Yes.” Gone is the despondent look as his eyes light up eagerly.

“We'll need a straw,” he says, patting down his pockets while Wes looks up at his father hopefully.

“Here you go,” he smiles. “I knew there must be a good reason why I'm still carrying our empty cups.”

“Thanks, Dad.” He grins and hands over the straw, watching as Malcolm surreptitiously pulls out a pen knife and uses it to strategically cut four little diamond-shaped holes in the plastic to make a little flute.

“Now watch,” he says, hiding the knife once more and playing a little tune on Wes's new instrument.

“Wow!” Wes is delighted, almost falling off Ruth's lap in his eagerness.

“You try it.”

And with Malcolm's patient help, he manages to play a few notes. Soon Adam calls him away and they say their goodbyes, with Malcolm receiving an invitation to Wesley's fort, a sure sign he's been promoted to one of his favourite uncles.

“That was lovely, Malcolm,” Ruth smiles. “He was so happy.”

“Well,” he blushes, “my uncle Richard was rather good at party tricks and I picked up quite a few.”

“What I want to know, Malcolm,” Harry murmurs, leaning closer so he's not overheard and making Ruth's stomach flutter at his sudden proximity, “is how you managed to get a penknife through security.”


	55. Chapter 55

There's not much work going on any more. Someone's brought out some sparkling wine that they're all drinking out of mugs and the general mood is one of joyful exuberance. Even people like herself, who don't really care much about cricket, can appreciate the joy of getting back the Ashes after a losing streak that's lasted more than fifteen years.

Harry's not here. He went off to the Oval to see the last few hours of the game. She can't wait to see him when he gets back. This morning, he'd looked almost boyish at the prospect of the win and had made love to her with an enthusiasm that's making her blush just thinking about it.

“I think it's wonderful,” Malcolm says.

“It is.” She agrees, blushing harder to think Malcolm might have read her mind. It _had_ been wonderful!

_Stop it, Ruth!_

She crossly reigns in her wondering thoughts. “Look how happy it's made everyone,” she adds.

“No. I mean, you and Harry.”

“Oh.”

_Christ! He can't mean... No, Ruth. Be sensible. He just means your relationship._

She drops her gaze and takes a quick fortifying sip of wine.

“I think you make a smashing couple,” he adds.

_See?! Nothing to worry about. Well, nothing more than usual – people knowing and talking about, laughing... Stop it!_

“Thank you, Malcolm,” she whispers then lifts her eyes to look at him. She really _is_ grateful to him and Fiona for being so positive about it. It's making this so much easier than it would have been otherwise. “I was worried that people would think...” She tails off, shrugging helplessly.

“Don't worry, Ruth. It's going to be all right.” He smiles his lovely crooked smile. “I suppose it was staring us all in the face. You've always had a... connection with him. It's a testament to how good you both are that you've kept it a secret for so long.”

She frowns.

_How does he know how long it's been?_

“I saw Harry at the Oval earlier,” he confesses, correctly interpreting her look. “I've never seen him look so happy.”

“Yes, well, cricket does-”

“No, no. It's _you_ , Ruth. He's a changed man.”

She blushes. “Thank you, Malcolm,” she says and impulsively kisses his cheek.

“What's all this then?” Zaf stops by them, leaning against the desk on her other side and gently bumping her shoulder with his own. “Dishing out kisses? I wouldn't mind one of those.”

She laughs.

“Get in line,” Malcolm replies, making her giggle in surprise.

“I am!” Zaf objects. “You've had yours, so it's my turn now. I don't see anyone else in the queue.”

“Hang on! I'm not that easy, Zaf. You have to earn it.”

“I haven't earned even one kiss in all these weeks I've worked beside you, all the cups of tea I've brought you, or-”

“Oh all right,” she concedes, smiling and swiftly kissing his cheek.

Zaf grins and opens his mouth, ready to say something more, when his face turns suddenly serious and he moves away, putting some distance between them.

She gives him a quizzical look.

“Sorry,” he murmurs. “I love you, Ruth, but I don't have a death wish. I'm still quite new here and Harry's back.”

The pods swish open just then, making her turn to see Harry walking onto the Grid, a wide grin decorating his face. “Victory is sweetest when you have known defeat,” he declares happily, scanning the Grid until his eyes alight on her face.

For a moment, she's terrified he's going to stride across the Grid and kiss her in front of everyone, but if that was his intention, he seems to think better of it as he only smiles and looks away again, leaving her to breathe a sigh of relief.

“How was it?” Adam asks him.

“The game was nothing special, but the result is fantastic,” he grins. “I swear half the senior civil service was there today, not to mention rather a lot of politicians.”

“It's nice for some!”

Harry laughs and claps his shoulder before wandering off to his office, whistling.

“Bloody hell,” Zaf comments. “I didn't know he had it in him to be so cheerful. Who knew a game of cricket could have such an effect?”

“I suspect it's a lot more than the cricket,” a passing Adam observes, winking at Ruth.

Zaf smirks, his eyes twinkling impossibly brightly, while Malcolm looks away, hiding a smile of his own.

_Oh God!_

She blushes – caught, unsure of what to do.

“Oh shut up!” she tells them all and walks away, taking refuge in Harry's office.

He looks up as she enters, noting the rose tint of her cheeks. “Everything all right?” he asks, getting up from his desk and moving towards her.

“Fine,” she nods. “I'm fine.” Then she lifts her mug to her lips and drains the rest of the wine.

“You don't look fine,” he observes. “What did they do?” He looks out the window and catches several pairs of eyes quickly looking away. “Nosy sods,” he observes, moving over to close the blinds.

When he turns his eyes back to Ruth, she looks close to tears.

“Hey, what's this?” he asks softly, moving closer. “What's the matter?”

She shakes her head, but as he stops beside her, she can't help leaning against him, drawing comfort from his solid strength. He wraps his arms around her, drawing her closer, holding her for long moments and softly kissing her forehead. “Which one of them said something? Which one do I have to kill?” he asks eventually.

That makes her laugh in surprise, drawing back to look at him. “No one. It's fine. They were just teasing. They didn't mean anything by it. I just find it... overwhelming. I don't know how to... deal with it, how to stop myself from caring.”

“It'll come, Ruth,” he says softly, lifting his hand to stroke her cheek, wiping away a stray tear. “Nerves are normal at the beginning of most things. With time, it won't bother you any more.”

She sighs and rests her head against his shoulder again.

“You smell of smoke and beer,” she complains.

“Sorry,” he replies, but doesn't attempt to pull back.

“Are you drunk?”

“Hardly!” He sounds offended.

She lifts her head to smile up at him. He does look like he's had one too many, though he hides it well. Ever the spy, hiding his weakness, she thinks fondly.

_My wonderful spy._

“Sorry,” she murmurs, changing the subject, “I've interrupted your work.”

“I was just sending a message to my Australian counterpart,” he confesses, his face transforming as he grins with delight.

“Harry!”

“What? Fifteen years he's been doing this to me, Ruth! Fifteen _years_! It's payback time... with bells on.”

She laughs, pulling out of his arms and shaking her head, muttering, “Men!”

“Don't go,” he murmurs, trying to pull her back into his embrace.

“Harry, we're at work.”

He sighs and gives up.

“Later,” she promises, seeing his crestfallen face.

He smiles. “I'm looking forward to it... and to _officially_ moving in this weekend. I've scheduled a meeting with the DG tomorrow.”

She nods, suddenly nervous again.

_Tomorrow. Everyone will know tomorrow._

“Good,” she says, trying to hide her nerves.

“Oh Ruth,” he sighs, smiling. “How I _do_ love you.”

She blushes and smiles too. She should know better than to try to hide how she's feeling from him. It goes both ways. If she can tell he's a little drunk, he can see her nerves clear as day. They can read each other so effortlessly now and it warms her heart that they know each other so well.

“I love you too and I'm looking forward to you and Scarlet moving in on Saturday very much. Then it'll be _our_ home and, when we say we're going home, we'll mean the same place.”

There's a pause during which they hold each other's gaze, a breathless kind of anticipation tingling through each of them.

“Let me kiss you,” he murmurs gruffly. “Please.”

She giggles. “What is it with everyone wanting kisses today?”

He frowns. “Who else has asked you for a kiss?”

“A few people,” she smiles coyly. God, she loves to tease him!

“A _few_ people?” He moves closer, forcing her to take a step back as he looms over her.

“Okay, just one really.”

“Who?”

“It's none of your business,” she retorts, taking another step back and coming up against the wall.

“Isn't it?”

“No.”

“Did you give it?”

“The kiss?”

“Yes.”

“Maybe.”

His eyes narrow.

“Okay, but I'd like to see _you_ resist Kevin Pietersen if he asked you for a kiss.”

It takes him a second to register what she's said. Then he bursts out laughing. He laughs so hard that she's sure no one on the Grid has ever heard him display such joy before, and she's hopeful suddenly that, these people at least, the ones they work with closely every day, will not begrudge Harry and her the happiness they have found in each other.

“Oh Ruth,” he gasps eventually, one hand against the wall beside her, steadying him, his other wiping at his eyes. “You are the most wonderful part of my life,” he adds, his eyes meeting hers, and this time she doesn't resist him, welcoming his kiss – soft and brief and full of love.

“I'd only ever kiss _your_ lips, Harry,” she confesses as he pulls back.

“What?” he teases, “Not even Kevin's? Not even when he's just won the Ashes for us?”

“Not even then. Besides, did you _see_ his hair?!”

He chuckles, then his face turns suddenly serious.

“What?”

“Nothing,” he replies, turning away.

“Tell me,” she coaxes, grasping his hand.

He turns his eyes on hers again and holds her gaze for a moment.

He sighs. “I was just thinking that Danny would have loved this.”

“He would,” she agrees, remembering now much he loved cricket, her eyes filling with sorrow.

“He should have been with us today,” Harry adds, a hard edge to his voice.

“He is,” she says simply, squeezing his hand.

He smiles at that and nods.

“What made you think of him so suddenly?” she asks, curious.

“You,” he admits with a bit of a mischievous smile, “kissing other men. He was the one you'd planned to kiss that night.”

“But you were the one I'd _imagined_ kissing thousands of times,” she retorts, kissing his cheek and giving him a warm smile before she turns and makes for the door. “Best leave you to get on with your emails to Australia. They're going to start wondering what we're up to in here.”

“Let them,” he replies. “Whatever they're thinking is probably nowhere near the truth.”

“No,” she sighs, her stomach churning again with nerves. “They probably think we're having hot sex all over your desk.”

“Little do they know,” is his wonderful reply, “that _this_ ,” he indicates between them with his hand, “is _so_ much better.”

She smiles, eyes softening and overflowing with tenderness. “I love you,” she says.

“I know.”

“And it's suddenly very tempting to make love to you on your desk despite the audience.”

He laughs in surprise again before he beams at her as she blows him a quick kiss and leaves his office, a blanket of contentment shielding her heart from whatever teasing the others have in store for her.

_Let them tease, let them imagine. They will never come close to seeing what we truly have._


	56. Chapter 56

He rings the doorbell – the last time he'll do this, he thinks contentedly, a big grin spreading across his face.

The door opens so quickly that he wonders if she's been waiting beside it all morning.

“Good morning. Here we are,” he says, beaming at her.

She smiles.

“Come in,” she replies, stroking Scarlet as she darts over the threshold to greet her and releasing her from her lead. She scampers away into the house, most likely looking for Fidget.

She seems thrilled to have another living creature around and has been trying to make friends every day she's been here since their introduction a couple of weeks ago. Fidget is still reserving judgement, eyeing her – or perhaps taunting her – from the vantage point of any convenient piece of furniture that's out of her reach.

“Hello, you,” she says, stepping close and lifting her arms over his shoulders, threading her fingers through his hair and kissing him soundly.

He wants to drop the bags and pull her to him, devour her, carry her upstairs, but he's scared something in the bags will break – he's currently carrying the ones containing whatever food remained in his fridge – so he makes do with walking forward until she's pressed between him and the wall. She moans, shifting against him and causing his body to react quite powerfully to the provocation.

“Ruth,” he groans, attempting to pull back before he stops caring about breaking a few bottles and jars, not to mention the eggs. “Let me put these things in the kitchen first.”

“Mmmm,” she hums against his lips, kissing him again with less urgency this time. “All right, but I want you, Harry. Badly.”

He exhales heavily, his eyes dark and hungry as he pulls back to look at her. “Then I'm also going to have to close and lock the car.”

She smiles. “You do that while I put this lot in the fridge then. How does that sound?”

“It sounds too good to be true.”

She laughs lightly, following him through to the kitchen. “Which part exactly? That I'll put something away, or the prospect of sex the moment you arrive home?”

He puts down the bags near the fridge and turns to pull her into his arms. “Both,” he murmurs against her skin, gently biting her shoulder and making her whimper and melt in his arms.

_He knows all the sensitive spots, damn him!_

“I guess it's your lucky day then, Harry,” she says somewhat breathlessly when he pulls back smirking.

“Mmmm,” he hums, kissing her lips softly. “Lucky day... lucky week... lucky month... lucky year... lucky lifetime,” he adds, punctuating his words with kisses, leading from her lips and along her jaw to her neck and shoulder.

She giggles, then moans, saying, “If you don't go now, Harry, I'm going to have you on the kitchen table and someone's going to steal all your clothes from the car.”

“The kitchen table?”

“Seems like the most logical place in this room. Why? Did you want to try the cooker instead?”

He grins. “No. I like the way you think, Ruth. Are we going to christen every piece of furniture in this way?”

“Not a chance!” she replies. “You'd never let me replace any of it if we did that!”

He laughs happily, making her smile in delight.

_God, I love to make him laugh!_

“I love you,” he murmurs, threading his fingers through her hair and pulling her towards him for another kiss. It's deeper, more tender, full of love rather than lust, something altogether more profound, and she doesn't think they would have managed to stop if her phone hadn't rung at that precise moment.

He pulls back, sighing as he draws her against him, kissing her temple before stepping back.

“You'd better get that,” he says.

She nods and moves over to the counter where the phone Malcolm gave her just yesterday for their op against the British Way is lying. “Hello?”

“Hi, Lesley. It's me. Luke.” Adam's voice greets her.

“Luke. How are you?”

“Fine. And you?”

“I can't complain.”

“Good. Listen, remember the bloke I told you about?”

“Yes.”

“He wants to meet you. He's really interested in the stuff you showed me.”

She pauses, then says, “Look, Luke, I'm not sure about this.”

“Oh, come on, Lez. Don't back out on me now. I'll take you both out to tea. What do you say?”

“I don't know.” She makes sure she sounds hesitant, just in case anyone's listening in on the call.

“Go on. For me. It's ages since I've seen you and... you know how important this stuff is to me, to us.”

“Okay. When?”

“How about tomorrow? Let's say at three?”

“That's fine.”

“Great! I'll meet you at the tube station, the usual place. All right?”

“Yes. See you there. Bye, Luke.”

“Bye.”

She ends the call and turns to Harry who is crouching in front of the fridge, putting things away.

“That's supposed to be my job,” she says with a fond smile.

He just smiles at her and turns back to the task in hand. “What did Adam say?”

“I'm meeting him tomorrow at three. Moran must have taken the bate.” She sighs and rubs her face with her hands.

“What is it?” He asks, and when she looks at him, she finds him watching her with concern.

“Nothing.” She shakes her head. “I was just hoping to spend time with you tomorrow, finish packing and stuff. It doesn't seem like we have any time to ourselves, that's all. And I know it's always been like that and it's never bothered me before, but it's different now I have you.”

He smiles broadly at that, rising to his feet, his hand going to his left knee to massage away the sudden stab of pain.

“You okay?” she asks.

“Fine,” he dismisses her concern with a wave of his hand.

She smiles fondly at his need to never admit weakness.

_Silly man._

“I told you, you should have let me do that job.” She teases lightly as he moves to stand by her side. “I don't want you hurting yourself. What are we going to do if you can't kneel in bed later? You know my legs aren't as strong as yours and I can't manage to stay on top for long.”

He chuckles, knowing she's trying to boost his ego, brilliant woman that she is. “Very well. Next time, I'll listen to you.”

“That'll be the day!”

He retaliates by pulling her into his arms and tickling her.

She laughs, twisting until she's escaped his grasp and moved around the kitchen table, sticking her tongue out at him for good measure.

He smiles.

_God, I love it when she's playful like that._

“You know, perhaps we don't need to do this, Ruth,” he says. “Perhaps it would be better to hire professionals to help me move. The situation with Sampson and the British Way is likely to keep us busy for several weeks. Let's just forget about moving on our own and pay someone to do it.”

“But what about my friends? We've already asked them to help next weekend.”

“Well, if we can get someone to do the packing up and moving during the week, they can help us unpack or something,” he suggests. “Or maybe we could throw a house-warming party instead.”

“I thought you wanted to keep them sober at our place!” she teases.

“There _is_ that.” He smiles mischievously.

“How much would it be to hire someone?”

“I've no idea. We'd need to look it up.”

“All right. Let's do this,” she says decisively. “Let's bring your stuff in from the car, put it away, then have a cup of tea and figure out how much it would cost to pay a moving company to pack and move your stuff over.” Then a sudden thought occurs to her. “Is there a security risk, do you think?”

He frowns. “I don't imagine so, and besides, we should probably have Malcolm and Colin have a look at the security of your place anyway.”

“I'm not putting state-of-the-art locks that only open with a retina scan or something ridiculous like that on my house, Harry! That's a step too far,” she says firmly.

“Nothing that sophisticated, Ruth, but you must admit that anyone could break into the house as it is. Fiona could probably do it in three seconds flat.”

She sighs, knowing he's right. “Okay, but nothing too fancy.”

“I'm sure Malcolm will find just the thing,” he says, moving closer. “And he can scan the place for bugs too, while he's at it.”

“Bugs?”

“Just in case the movers turn out to be KGB or MI-6,” he smiles, having reached her side.

That makes her laugh. “Right. Let's get your stuff in from the car.”

His arms quickly snake around her waist, holding her trapped against him. “Just a moment, Ruth. I believe you promised me something else first.”

“Oh? What was that?”

He narrows his eyes at her, not buying the innocent look she gives him for a moment. “I've already had to put the food in the fridge in spite of your promise to do that. If you think I'll be having sex by myself too, you've got another thing coming.”

“Mmmm,” she hums, lifting her arms over his shoulders. “Coming, eh? By yourself? Sounds hot and very sexy. You'd better go lock the car quickly, Mr Pearce. I have every intention of watching you.” He opens his mouth to object, but she swiftly silences him with a quick kiss. “And joining in as well,” she assures him huskily. “I've never been one to let you have all the fun now, have I?”


	57. Chapter 57

It's the thought of Wes more than anything else that makes her go back to help Adam, and as she stands over Moran, the tree-branch still in her hands, she's glad that she found the courage to do it.

“All right?” Adam asks.

“Yes.”

“Good,” he smiles. “Thanks for coming back for me.”

“You're welcome.”

“Right. You! Get up and walk slowly towards the road where your mates dropped us off.”

Moran glares at him but does as he's told, still looking a little dazed from Ruth's blow and staggering a little as he moves ahead of them.

Once they reach the road, Adam says, “Ruth, get the rope, would you? And tie his hands behind his back.” Then he adds to Moran, “You so much as bat an eyelid and I'll send this bolt straight through your heart. Now, lie on your stomach, put your hands behind your back and don't move.”

By the time he's lying on the ground at their feet, Ruth's feeling a little calmer, her hands steady and able to tie him up without difficulty. She pulls the rope around his wrists and ankles tight enough to be uncomfortable and ties it securely before picking up her trusty tree-branch and standing up, satisfied.

“Well done,” Adam grins and leans over Moran, patting down his pockets, looking for a phone.

“Harry?” he says into the phone, crossbow still held loosely by his side. “It's Adam.”

“Ruth?” he asks immediately, heart in his mouth.

“She's fine,” Adam smiles over at her. “She's currently brandishing a tree-branch and keeping an eye on Moran, ready to club him over the head again if he so much as twitches a finger.”

“Where are you?”

“Bramsley Wood Nature Reserve.”

“I'll send a team out right away,” he says. “Let me speak to Ruth.”

Adam smiles as he holds out the phone to Ruth. “Harry wants to speak to you.”

She takes the phone and brings it to her ear, hand trembling a little again.

“Harry?”

“Ruth.” The relief is so great that he has to sit down on the edge of his desk. “Are you all right?”

“I'm fine,” she nods, his gruff voice flooding her with relief and a sudden desire to cry. “I'm fine,” she repeats, her voice a little wobbly now. “Isis...”

“I know, Ruth,” he murmurs softly. “I'm sorry.” Then he makes a sudden decision and stands, striding for the door. “I'm coming to get you,” he adds.

She wants to object, protest that it's not right for him to be giving her any kind of special treatment, but she can't get the words out. She really, _really_ wants to see him, touch his face, fold herself into his arms. For a few moments there in the back of the van, she'd thought she'd never see him again. All her thoughts had been of him, his sorrow were he to lose her, panic at what he might do, what he might become.

Their reunion, when it happens, is restrained – a small smile, a look of love, a gentle brush of their hands as they stand close, absorbing each other's presence, feeling each other's love.

“All right?” he asks softly.

“Yes.” She smiles. “I'm fine now.”

He nods, pursing his lips, watching as her eyes drop to them, longing in her gaze.

“Ruth,” he murmurs, his hand rising to cup her cheek.

She smiles up at him, eyes sparkling. “I'm so glad to see you,” she says. “I thought...” She tails off, reaching for his other hand and squeezing it with her own. “I love you.”

“And I, you,” he replies gruffly, pulling her into his arms.


	58. Chapter 58

By the time they arrive home in the early afternoon, she's exhausted, wanting nothing more than to curl up in bed with Harry and go to sleep.

He helps her out of her coat and hangs it up, saying, “Let me run you a bath?”

She smiles. “A bath sounds lovely.”

So he gently brushes his hand down her arm and goes upstairs to do as he's promised, and soon she's relaxing in a hot bubble bath, emptying her mind of all thought... until she remembers that today her friends are coming round.

“Shit!” She sighs and calls Harry's name, hoping he's close enough to hear.

It doesn't take him long to materialise at the door, knocking lightly against it. “Ruth?”

“Come in, Harry.” She smiles. She loves how respectful he is of her privacy.

“Did you call?” he asks once he's slipped inside the bathroom and swiftly closed the door.

“I've just remembered that we have our house-warming thingy tonight.”

“I know.”

“I don't think I can face it, Harry,” she sighs, lifting her hands to rub her face. “I can't make merry and entertain people tonight. I'm physically and emotionally exhausted.”

“It's not for another couple of hours, Ruth, and it seems a bit late to cancel,” he replies softly.

“I know,” she sighs, looking up at him. “Food poisoning?” she suggests.

He smiles and sits down on the edge of the bath, near her head. “Sit up a moment,” he says, and when she does, she feels his large, warm hands on her shoulders, stroking softly at first, then massaging deeply.

She moans, lifting her knees and dropping her head onto them, relaxing under his magical touch. “Mmmm,” she hums. “That's so good.”

He smiles fondly down at her, his heart burning with love for her, knowing how lucky they are, how lucky _he_ is to have her here with him tonight. Today could so easily have ended in tragedy instead.

“I think you'll enjoy it, Ruth, having them over,” he says after a moment. “I've seen you around them. They help you relax and enjoy life. I think you need that tonight. I've already arranged for some food to be delivered, so we don't need to cook, and it'll do the team good as well to spend some time together tonight, relaxing. You don't have to do anything. You know Bridget will organise everything and everyone when she arrives. You can just sit back and enjoy, or slip upstairs to rest if it gets too much. Maggie will have fun flirting with Zaf, Alex will adore Scarlet and spoil her rotten, Pam will take care of Wes and any other kids that turn up, Alice will figure out that none of us work for DEFRA, and I will enjoy taunting Mick over the ashes.”

She laughs, lifting her head and turning to face him as her hand covers his on her shoulder. “You're wonderful, Harry,” she says. “I can't believe how lucky I am.”

“I have my moments,” he replies, leaning in for a kiss. “And I'm _so_ glad that you're all right.” He kisses her again, more deeply, drawing her towards him with an arm around her shoulders, scarcely registering his shirt sleeve getting wet, so caught up is he in her being _here_ , in his arms, beautifully, wonderfully _alive_!

She moans, pulling him closer with her hands in his hair, lips tingling from his kisses and the scrape of his stubble against them.

She wants him, the knowledge she'd almost lost this overwhelming.

She turns in the tub, kneeling so she can move closer, pressing her wet body against his.

“Ruth,” he groans, left hand cupping her breast while her fingers begin to pull his shirt free of his trousers and work on the buttons, wanting to feel his skin, his naked chest pressed against hers, hearts beating as one.

He stands, lifting her to her feet, his arms around her, pulling her close, eyes almost level as she stands inside the tub and he in front of it. “I need you, Ruth,” he growls huskily, drawing her closer, groaning as she thrusts her hips against his. His lips find her pulse point, licking and sucking her skin and making her whimper.

“Take them off,” she gasps, tugging down on the waist band of his trousers, breath hitching as he kisses her lips hard before taking a small step back to do as he's told.

Quickly he divests himself of his clothing, his eyes on her the whole time, burning fiercely with desire and love. Her heated gaze is following the movement of his hands, watching as each piece of clothing is removed and another part of him revealed, and when he eventually stands before her naked, she steps quickly from the tub into his waiting arms.

They cling to each other, lips fused in love, her hands in his hair, his clasping her bum, kneading as they stagger towards the door.

_I love you. I want you. I almost lost you._

The door is closed and neither of them can bring themselves to let go long enough to open it.

“What would I ever do without you?” he asks huskily, drawing her closer, wrapping her tightly in his arms and burying his face in her neck, his emotions suddenly threatening to overwhelm him.

“You'll never be without me,” she replies, kissing his cheek. “I'll come back to haunt you if I have to.”

That makes him chuckle and pull back to look at her, his eyes shimmering with unshed tears, yet at the same time alight with love and gratitude. “Come to bed, Ruth,” he says. “I want to make love to you properly.”

“You always make love to me properly, Harry.”

“You know what I mean,” he murmurs, moving his head closer. “Ardently... passionately... thoroughly. I want to make love to you all night long.”

She sighs and kisses his lips softly before pulling back to say, “That sounds lovely, Harry, but we only have two hours. Less in fact as I'm sure I'll need a nap to recover afterwards.”

“Don't worry, Ruth,” he smiles. “I'll take care of everything.”

“I know you will.” She smiles fondly at him, stroking the side of his face.

_Poor, love. He must have been so worried._

And she knows he's now compensating for his feelings of utter helplessness by taking control of everything. He needs that – to take care of her, make love to her, plan and organise, _control_ every last little detail for the rest of the day, maybe the whole weekend too. And she'll let him do it, go along with whatever plans he makes, allow him to overcompensate for a little while until he can regain his equilibrium. She'll do all that and more because she loves him... so very much.

“Take me to bed, Harry,” she says.


	59. Chapter 59

When everyone arrives, she's still asleep and he doesn't have the heart to wake her.

They all ask after her and to each of her friends he says the same thing – that she slept badly last night and will be down any minute now.

Most of them just nod in understanding.

It's only Maggie who says something outrageous.

“You shagged her senseless this afternoon, didn't you, Harry?”

He's been expecting something like this, so he smiles and leans in, whispering near her ear, “More than once actually, Maggie,” and winking as he pulls back.

She laughs, grinning from ear to ear to have him finally display some warmth towards her. “Lucky woman,” she replies, gently touching his chest with her hand.

“Mmmm,” he hums, then turns a little and lifts his arm in invitation. “I have someone I think you'd like to meet,” he says and leads her through to the living room to introduce her to Zaf. He's sure they'll hit it off, and more likely than not, end up in bed together later, _after_ they leave here. He must remember to keep an eye on the pair of them.

Once almost everyone has arrived and he's got Adam keeping an ear out for anyone else ringing the doorbell, he makes his way upstairs with a hot cup of tea in his hands. He slips into their bedroom and walks over to their new bed, smiling fondly down at Ruth whose face is completely hidden behind a curtain of chestnut hair.

“Ruth,” he murmurs softly, setting aside the tea and taking a seat beside her. Gently he runs his fingers through her hair, revealing her sleeping face, and leans forward to softly kiss her awake.

“Mmm,” she hums, her arms slipping over his shoulders and pulling him towards her, pressing her lips firmly against his and causing him to lose his balance and almost fall on top of her. This isn't the first time she's done this, kissed him ardently while still half-asleep, and it always makes him wonder if she's been having an erotic dream, and if so, whether it has featured him or someone else.

“Time to wake up, Ruth,” he murmurs softly, pulling back a little to look at her.

“Harry,” she sighs, still half-asleep, pleasing him no end, “come back to bed. Tis too early to get up.” Maybe she _was_ dreaming of him after all.

He smiles. “Come on, Ruth. Almost everyone's here. I've brought you a cup of tea.”

“Everyone?” she frowns.

“The house warming party, remember?”

“That's today?” She sounds so confused and out of it that he can't help falling in love with her a little bit more in that moment.

“This evening, yes.” He smiles, stroking her face with his hand. “You slept well then?”

She doesn't reply, rubbing her face with her hands, stretching and sitting up in bed before taking the tea he hands her. “Thank you,” she murmurs, blowing across the surface of the hot liquid and taking a sip as it all comes back to her. “How long have I been asleep?”

He glances at his watch. “An hour or so.”

“Christ! Why didn't you wake me, Harry?”

“I tried, but you were sleeping so deeply, Ruth. Don't worry. I told everyone you didn't sleep well last night, so it's fine.”

“Great! Now they probably all think I'm pregnant or something.” Her eyes go wide and she quickly apologises. “Sorry. Sorry. I didn't mean to say that. It was a thoughtless thing to say.” Luckily, he looks amused more than anything else.

“It's fine,” he says. He hesitates, then adds, “Did you... Is that... something you've been thinking about... for us?”

She drops her gaze for a moment, trying to get her bearings as she takes another sip of her tea.

_How did we get from discussing a party to talking about babies?_

“Um... not... as such, no. I mean... I _have_ thought about it,” she confesses, lifting her eyes to his. “But not... seriously. I feel... unprepared for parenthood and our jobs are... not the best fit for... Christ! I almost died this morning, Harry! And all I could think about was you and how you'd feel, what would become of you. I can't imagine having to worry about a child too.”

He reaches for her hand and squeezes it gently, unsure of what to say. “I'm sorry. That wasn't the best...”

“Timing?” she asks, smiling now. “Not one of your strongest suits that.” He chuckles, pleased to see he hasn't put his foot in it too badly. “To answer your question, I don't think I want children, Harry. Do you?” she asks softly.

“No,” he replies. “For the same reasons... I _have_ thought about it and, for the record, I think you'd make a wonderful mother, but I have already tried fatherhood and failed abysmally at it. I wouldn't want to inflict myself on another child.”

“Don't be so hard on yourself, Harry.” She brushes her hand against his cheek. “You're not the same man you were thirty years ago. You'd make a fine father now and, if I were to ever change my mind, I can't think of a better man to be the father of my children.”

“Thank you, Ruth, but I fear I'm a little old now anyway.”

“My father wasn't young either, yet he was the best father I could have wished for.”

He smiles. “In that case, if you change your mind, I hope you'll let me know and we can talk about this again.”

“I will,” she agrees, taking his hand in hers and linking their fingers together.

They gaze into each other's eyes for long moments before Harry rouses himself and says, “I'd best get back downstairs.” She nods and makes to rise with him, but he stops her with his hand on her knee. “Stay. Drink your tea. Take your time. Come downstairs when you're ready.”

“Thank you, Harry,” she says, “for the tea and... for being you.”

He smiles. “I love you,” he says and softly kisses her lips. Then he pats her knee and gets up, slipping out of the room and going back downstairs.

She showers and changes into a dress before following him down to seek her friends out. She finds Malcolm and Pam in the kitchen with Wes and Pam's own two children, Mary and Jonathan, all three of them focused intently on something Malcolm's showing them.

She smiles. She never knew Malcolm had it in him to be so good with children. Then again, Pam's kids are almost teenagers now and there's a quiet kind of thoughtfulness about him and respect for others regardless of their age that she supposes would appeal to them.

Pam spies her first, coming over to give her a hug. “Hi, Ruth,” she says. “Feeling any better?”

“Much, thanks,” she smiles.

Malcolm looks up and gives her a small smile. “Hello, Ruth.”

“Auntie Ruth!” Wes exclaims before she can reply. “Do you have toothpicks?”

“Toothpicks?!”

“Yes. Uncle Malcolm needs some for a trick.”

“Oh!” She smiles fondly down at the boy. “I don't, but perhaps Uncle Harry has some. They'll still be in one of the boxes though. We haven't unpacked the kitchen things yet. Why don't you go and ask him if he remembers which box he put them in?”

“Okay,” he says and darts out of the room.

Ruth takes the opportunity to put her mug in the sink and properly greet Malcolm and Pam's children and show an interest in what they're doing.

“We have to get the olive to the other side of the straw without touching the olive or the straw,” Mary explains, while her younger brother gazes intently at the set-up – an olive on the table, a straw lying beside it and a brandy glass.

“Tricky,” Ruth concedes, glancing up at Malcolm and giving him a wink.

“He says it's in box number two!” Wes bursts back into the kitchen at high speed.

_So much energy! How do Adam and Fiona cope?_

“Right,” Ruth replies, all seriousness. “Now _that_ I can help with.”

And she proceeds to locate and open box number two, thankfully finding the toothpicks nestled neatly on top.

“Here you go.”

Wes takes them and hands them to Malcolm, who takes four out and breaks them in half so that each toothpick forms a right angle. Then he places them together on the table to make a star. “Now watch,” he says, picking up his wine glass and dipping his finger in it so that a drop forms on the end of it and falls neatly in the centre of the star.

He repeats the process a couple more times, but already the toothpicks are beginning to move, straightening out to turn back into a square, an amazed and very excited Wes exclaiming, “Wow!!”

Ruth smiles at his enthusiasm before turning to her god-daughter and saying, “Let me know when you've solved it,” and making her way to the dining room. She's starving and hopes to find some food there.

She almost bumps into Fiona as she entered the hall.

“Oops! Sorry,” she says, then exclaims, “Ruth!” And gives her a hug. “Thank you,” she adds, “for going back for Adam. I never got a chance to say... earlier.”

She wants to dismiss her thanks, tell her it's nothing, but then she thinks how she'd feel if someone had saved Harry's life and smiles instead. “I'm glad there was something I could do.”

Fiona looks sad for a moment, no doubt thinking of Danny. “Yes,” is the only thing she says before shaking herself free of the memory. “I was on my way to check on Wes.”

“He's fine. He's in the kitchen. Malcolm's quite the party trick master. He's got them doing brain puzzles too, though I suspect Wes might be a bit too young for those.”

Fiona laughs. “I doubt he has the patience yet.”

“No.” She smiles and then nods towards the dinning room. “I'm looking for the food.”

“In the dinning room. There's masses. You'd think you two were planning on feeding an army!”

“That would be Harry,” Ruth smiles fondly. “He tends to overestimate when it comes to food. I think he believes it's always better to have too much than too little.”

Fiona laughs again. “He's probably right there.” There's a pause before she adds, “Anyway, I'll see you in a bit,” and slips past her and into the kitchen.

In the dinning room, she does indeed find masses of food and lots of friends who all greet her with warm hugs and distract her with questions about how she's feeling and what a lovely house this is and how come they've never seen it before, until eventually she has to really put her foot down and demand they let her get something to eat before she passes out!

There's no sign of Harry, but when she's managed to take the edge off her hunger with a few mouthfuls of food, she peeks into the living room to find him sitting in his new arm chair, animatedly talking to Mick, Dave, Colin and Adam, undoubtedly about sport. She smiles fondly at him. It's good to see him looking so happy and relaxed.

“Ruth, what are you drinking?” Bridget interrupts her thoughts.

“Oh! Er... nothing yet.”

“Tut tut, Ruth. You're not getting away with that! We can't have you teetotal when the drinking games begin. That would hardly be fair on the rest of us.”

“A glass of wine would be nice.”

“I know,” Bridget smiles and produces a glass of red wine. “I've got you one already.”

“Thank you. You're a star.” She takes a generous sip and sighs in contentment. It's good wine and she guesses it must be Bridget's contribution to the party... or Malcolm's. “Where's Maggie?” she asks, frowning.

“She seemed quite captivated by Zaf,” Alice replies as she joins them, making Ruth smile and shake her head as she remembers Harry's prediction earlier.

_Clever spy!_

“I haven't seen them in a while,” Bridget frowns, ever the mother and organiser of the group. “Perhaps someone should check up on them.”

“Well, they're not in my bed, and if they're doing it somewhere else, I really don't want to know about it!” Ruth replies, surprising herself.

Everyone around her laughs and she smiles, relaxing. She's not at work now. She's with her friends, who've always had this effect on her, making her more spontaneous, free and confident, more likely to blurt out the first thing that comes into her head and damn the consequences. It's a good feeling.

_Harry was right. I need this tonight._

“A wise attitude if I may say so,” Alice nods in approval.

“I think I saw them slip into the garden,” June offers, brushing a crumb from Alice's shirt. “I can't take you anywhere,” she admonishes lightly.

“Leave off,” Alice objects. “A few crumbs never hurt anyone.”

“It's not the crumbs I'm worried about. It's the stains. You never pay attention when you eat and are always dropping things down your shirt.”

Alice rolls her eyes. It sounds like an argument they've had often. “There's no time. Seems like I'm always in a hurry. I'm a doctor. Remember?”

“Yes, and as such, you should know the importance of slow, relaxed, mindful eating to your health.”

Alice dismisses June's concerns with a wave of her hand and adds, “It's nothing that a few orgasms won't cure.”

Ruth smiles, then jumps as Harry says, “I'll drink to that,” from right behind her.

“Bloody hell!” she exclaims, her drink sloshing dangerously around her glass. “Harry!”

He chuckles and pulls her close, his right arm winding round her waist, his lips kissing her hair. “Sorry,” he murmurs near her ear.

“Yes, well, you're lucky I didn't spill my wine, or you'd have been in deep trouble,” she replies, turning her head to nestle it under his chin for a moment, inhaling his intoxicating, Harry scent and placing her hand over his as it rests on her stomach. “Have you come looking for more whisky or food?”

“Neither,” he replies. “I've come looking for you.”

“Still sickeningly adorable, I see,” Alex comments, causing Harry to glare at her. She promptly sticks her tongue out at him.

“That is amazing,” Colin says. “I've never seen anyone get away with that before.”

“Get away with what?” Harry asks, turning his intense gaze on him.

“Oh... er... nothing, Harry. I was just... I think I'll go see what Malcolm's up to.” And with that he beats a hasty retreat to the kitchen.

“Jesus, Harry,” Alice observes dryly after everyone's laughter has died down. “What do you do to them at work to get that kind of reaction?”

“Threaten to strip. It works every time.”

“What? Even on the women?” Alex teases.

“Especially on the women.”

“Not _all_ the women,” Ruth smiles, feeling his arm squeeze her against him.

“Which is exactly why you get away with murder, Ruth,” Adam laughs.

“Maybe,” she concedes, looking up at Harry. “And probably why Danny always used to ask me to bring any bad news to Harry's attention for him.”

“He was a devious bugger,” Harry concedes.

“Beautiful lips too,” she adds, only to have Harry kiss her.

Hard.

While everyone else laughs.

“A toast,” says Adam, when they break apart, and waits for everyone to look at him. “To love,” he continues, “love between colleagues and friends, parents and children, love between lovers and spouses.” He nods at Harry and Ruth, then looks down at Fiona who's nestled herself against his left side while he was speaking. “I've known Ruth for a few years now and Harry for even longer than that, but I've never seen either of them as relaxed as they are tonight, nor as happy. Office romances are not easy – believe me, I know.” He gives Fiona another loving look. “And I believe they can only survive with an abundance of love. You have that,” He looks at Ruth and Harry again, who smile back at him and then glance at each other. “So let this be the beginning of many years of joy and happiness together. Ruth and Harry, everyone,” he adds, lifting his glass as everyone else lifts their own and repeats their names.

Ruth feels her eyes mist over a little to have all her dear friends together like this, drinking to her and Harry's happiness. She spies Malcolm, Pam and Colin with the children in the doorway and smiles. Then just as she starts to wonder where Zaf and Maggie might have got to, Maggie's voice calls out, “Yeah! Let's get this party started! Zaf, find some music and, Bridget, get a DVD or something for the kids. It's 'Truth or Shots' time! I'll get the booze. Everyone else – in the living room.”

Ruth laughs and turns in Harry's arms, reaching up to kiss his lips. “I love you,” she says.

“I love you too,” is his reply.


	60. Chapter 60

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year, all! In the words of Neil Gaiman, "May your coming year be filled with magic and dreams and good madness. I hope you read some fine books and kiss someone who thinks you're wonderful, and don't forget to make some art - write or draw or build or sing or live as only you can. And I hope, somewhere in the next year, you surprise yourself."  
> This is the last chapter of this story, set in July 2006 after the end of 5.2. I hope you have enjoyed this fic as much as I've enjoyed writing it. Thanks for reading and reviewing. Best, S.C.

“Harry, would you do my back?”

She's sitting on a towel on the deck of the small yacht Harry's hired. It's the first day of their ten day break from work, taken later than Harry usually goes on vacation because of everything that happened in June. Colin's memorial service had only been a few days ago.

“That's an odd request, Ruth,” he says from somewhere behind her. “You should know by now that I'm happy to _do_ any part of you.”

She rolls her eyes, smiling in spite of herself, her body beginning to respond to his sexy voice and innuendo.

_Insufferable man!_

“Cream, Harry,” she replies, lifting the tube of sun cream in the air to show him.

“Well,” his voice is closer now, “you know I'd also be happy to _cream_ any part of you, Ruth, though your back wouldn't be my first choice, certainly.”

“Harry!” She blushes and turns to glare at him. “That's...” She tails off.

There, standing before her, is Harry in all his glory, as naked as the day he was born.

He smiles at her and moves closer, taking a seat beside her.

“What?” he asks.

“Nothing.”

“I can hear you thinking very loudly, Ruth.”

“I was just... I mean...” She sounds flustered, which annoys her. Harry hasn't managed to fluster her in months now. She takes a deep breath and continues, “What if someone were to see?”

“Me naked?” He's toying with her, insufferable man that he is.

“Yes.”

“Ruth,” he explains patiently, “we're in the middle of the sea. There's no one here but us.”

“Yes, but there are other boats around, people on those boats. Look! There's one right over there.”

He squints in the direction she's indicating. “He'd need a pretty powerful telescope to see me from that far off,” he says dryly. He looks at her again and adds, “Besides, in my experience, having no clothes on guarantees that no one will approach the yacht. I didn't come here to meet people, Ruth, to strike up conversations with total strangers. I need this break from everyone and everything... except you.”

Slowly he leans in to kiss her.

“I hope this doesn't mean you're planning to wear clothes the entire time we're here,” he murmurs when they pull apart.

“Not clothes, no,” she smiles. “Just a bikini.”

“You'll have to go topless then,” he replies, eyes twinkling, “at least some of the time. You wouldn't want horrible tan-lines ruining all your hard work.”

“Ruining for whom? You're the only other person who ever sees my breasts.”

“And they are very beautiful,” he murmurs huskily, looking down at them with mounting desire, “especially when kissed by the sun.”

“Kissed? That's rather poetic, Harry, but didn't you want to be the only one who kisses my breasts?”

“The only human male, yes. The sun and the moon hardly count, Ruth.”

She smiles. “But what about my nipples?”

“What about them?” His voice is even huskier now and it's becoming more and more obvious that he's rather turned on.

“They might burn. They're not used to the hot, Mediterranean sun.”

His hand has reached round to remove her bikini top, gaze falling to her breasts again and making her insides quiver, breathing deepening, becoming more laboured.

“I'll protect them, Ruth,” he murmurs, reaching forward to cup one breast, his palm covering her nipple.

“Mmm,” she hums, lifting her face to the sky for a moment in bliss before she returns her gaze to his face. “I'm not sure having hand-print tan-lines is any better than bikini-top ones.”

He laughs, his eyes alight with merriment as he lifts his hand from her chest to her cheek.

“Then we'll have to follow my usual routine instead.”

“What routine is that?”

“Lie in the sun from sunrise till about ten, then stay below during the hottest part of the day, and sunbathe some more from about four onwards.”

“Won't we get bored, Harry, staying below for hours at a time? I only brought a few books with me.”

“Not a chance, Ruth,” he murmurs against her lips. “I intend to make love to you as many times as is humanly possible over the next ten days.”

“Nine days,” she corrects, breathlessly.

“Ten,” he insists. “We're not due back on the Grid till Monday.”

He kisses her – a warm, luxurious kiss, a kiss that makes her very soul sigh in bliss.

“I hope you plan to feed me in between,” she teases, when he pulls back.

“We will eat, drink, sleep, make love under the stars, Ruth,” he smiles, his eyes softening with love. “We can find deserted beaches to spend the day, good restaurants to eat at night. We can do anything and everything you wish.”

“Sounds perfect, Harry,” she replies, a little breathlessly. “Can we start by going down below and testing out the bed?”

“Tired after our flight, Ruth? Did you need a nap?”

“That too,” she replies, knowing he's teasing. “But trying to look all innocent won't work, Harry, if you insist on walking around naked all the time. It's pretty obvious that you don't have sleep in mind either.”

He chuckles and gets up, reaching for her hand and leading her to their cabin, grateful beyond words to be sharing his holiday with her this year. And though work has been harder than ever these last few months, his home life with Ruth and Scarlet and Fidget has saved him. It amazes him each and every day how much their love has grown, blossomed into a deep well of hope, a connection that's strong and rich and profoundly moving. There have been times when it's been hard work, when they've brought the stress and strife from the Grid home with them, when they've both been barely surviving, but coming out the other end, after this frequently long, often trying, and sometimes tragic journey they've taken together this past year – well, almost a year – it's been worth it, every moment of it. They're stronger, they've been tested, they've survived and they're more in love, more at ease, more confident in themselves and each other.

None of his other relationships have ever survived the strain, the hardship, the trauma of his job, but this one... this one is special.

Ruth is special.

And he cherishes it.

He cherishes _her_.

And he shows her that now. He holds nothing back and he can feel that she doesn't either, especially not when they make love – his favourite thing to do together.

Their life isn't perfect. Their love isn't perfect. But it is cherished and it brings them joy and happiness in a world that is too often filled with horror and loss.

She smiles down at him from the top of the three steps leading to their cabin, a goddess framed against the doorway by a bright, Mediterranean sun.

“I love you, Harry Pearce,” she says, reaching her arms over his shoulders as he wraps his around her hips, lifting her and carrying her to the bed, kissing her, his heart and soul sighing in bliss.

He's going to go back to the Grid a renewed man and, hopefully, an engaged one too, he thinks as he lowers her to the bed and kisses her some more, maybe even a married one if his plans for a wedding in a small church on a Greek island don't fall through. Just so long as it's not one of those horribly isolated ones that you have to climb about a million steps to reach. He doesn't think his dodgy knee could manage that.

And _that_ is his last coherent thought for some time as Ruth's hand closes around him, pulling him back from the future into the present and the joy and utter bliss to be had while making love to her.

 


End file.
